Snacking
by hoorayforicecream
Summary: A series of short stories, written to explore various facets of the Hawke and Isabela dynamic that were touched on, but not necessarily explored in the game. Lady Hawke   Isabela relationship.
1. Cupcakes

Cupcakes

"Hawke?" Isabela peeked around the corner of the hallway. "Where are you?"

"I'm in the kitchen. Just follow the sound of my voice," came the answer. Isabela strode down the hallway in the voice's direction. She noted the portraits of people she recognized, and some she didn't. Carver, Bethany, Leandra, Malcolm, Gamlen... even one of the Mabari affectionately nicknamed "Barkspawn". Something was different than usual. After all the time she had spent at the estate, Isabela had gained a sense of familiarity with it. There was a special aroma in the air tickling her nose. The smell of... cinnamon?

"What was it you wanted to speak to me about?"

"Come into the kitchen, Isabela. Just a little farther."

Isabela rounded the corner and stepped into the large kitchen. Hawke closed the large oven door, wiped her hands on what appeared to be an apron, and turned to face the Rivaini woman. "I wanted to talk to you about... something important."

Isabela strode forward, exaggerating her movements as she positioned herself nearer to her target. She lightly ran a finger across the counter top as she moved, drawing a line through the dusting of flour that had accumulated over the stonework. She smirked and raised an eyebrow. "Are you... cooking?"

"Would it surprise you that much if I was?" came Hawke's happy reply.

Isabela took a moment to run her eyes up and down the woman before her. The destroyer of darkspawn, the mangler of marauders, the bruiser of brigands, and savior of the citizenry was wearing a frilly pink apron spattered with stains and flour, holding a wooden spoon and lightly licking the end of it while concentrating on the flavor. Isabela's eyes lingered on the sight of Hawke's pink tongue for a moment, and she laughed.

"I never imagined that the mighty Champion of Kirkwall could be so... domestic. Varric would have a field day if he knew."

"It helps me to relax! After so much destruction, sometimes it feels good to be able to create something." Hawke replied. Isabela smiled and leaned back against the stone countertop.

"So what was so important that you needed to send for me? "

Hawke reached down into a basket beside her and retrieved a small pastry. It was a cupcake, lightly frosted with some sort of pink buttercream confection. She held it up to Isabela's lips. "Taste this." she said.

Isabela locked her eyes onto Hawke's and, with a mischievous smile, she licked slowly around the sweet frosting. Savoring the flavor, she made a show of it. First she drew her tongue in a light circle around the top, then she slowly sank her teeth into the soft dessert, never breaking eye contact. She finally licked her lips and slowly chewed and swallowed, enjoying both the taste of the sweet cake and the feeling of Hawke's bright eyes on her face. "It's delicious," she smiled when finished. Hawke nodded.

"I wanted to talk to you about... what happened yesterday. After the battle with Nuncio and his men."

Isabela stiffened. Hawke was giving her that serious look. She hadn't seen it since that night, a week ago. That night, when Isabela had felt nervous for the first time in what seemed like ages. That night, when she had laid her heart on the line. That night, when she had said "Just tell me, Hawke, if I have a chance with you."

"Promise you won't go and break my heart?" Hawke's answer at the time had been so tentative... it made her seem as vulnerable as Isabela was feeling.

"I won't if you don't give me a reason to". The following kiss had shaken both of them to their cores.

Isabela shook herself mentally, turning aside the excess feelings associated with the memories.

"What about yesterday? Is this about Zevran?"

Hawke looked at her, and the smile had left her face. Isabela could feel the icy claws of unease in her belly. Things had been feeling so wonderful just a moment ago, but in the blink of an eye she had gone from jubilance to apprehension.

"Isabela, I'd like to think that I know you."

"Of course, you goose. We've been 'knowing' each other rather regularly for quite some time now." She tried to inject a bit of humor. Anything to keep that serious look from boring into her.

"At first I was confused. Perhaps even a little shocked. But then I realized something." Hawke reached down into her basket and drew forth a second frosted pink cupcake. She looked at it for a moment. "You're used to having... snacks whenever you like. They're just snacks to you. A craving comes quickly, and it's easy to satisfy. You can get them just about anywhere, and they don't require any sort of investment."

Isabela glanced at the cupcake, then back at Hawke. Hawke was still focused on the cupcake she was holding. "Yes, I like... snacks. Good ones, especially." Isabela began.

"I understand that you care for me a great deal. And I do care for you a great deal as well." Hawke took a small lick from the frosting of her cupcake.

Isabela raised an eyebrow.

"After I came home yesterday, I realized that you were simply offering to share your snack with me." Hawke gave her a warm smile. Isabela felt the sense of relief washing over her like a wave across the deck of her ship.

"It wasn't just sharing, you know. You know I adore your... cooking. I just wanted you to sample a tasty delicacy that's rather difficult to come by." Isabela grinned. Hawke nodded at her, then took another lick from her cupcake.

"If I offered to share a snack and was turned down, I'd have no compunctions about eating that snack myself." Hawke set her cupcake down on the gray stone countertop. She turned to face Isabela.

"And when I asked you to save your... appetite, you did so at my behest."

"Yes... I did." Isabela's reply came, low and throaty. "And I'm still hungry."

"Good. We can eat in a moment," said Hawke, setting down the cupcake. She leveled her gaze at the Rivaini woman's amber eyes.

Isabela took the opportunity to mount the offensive. She closed her eyes and tried to sound nonchalant. "I can't tell you when the mood strikes, you know. Sometimes I want something rich and decadent. Other times, it's whatever is convenient. Just to take the edge off. " She leaned back, stealing a glance at Hawke, who nodded at her.

"I wanted to tell you this face to face, Isabela. I know you may have a craving for a variety of snacks from time to time, and I understand. I can't stop you from ruining your appetite. However, I need you to understand something very, very important." She leaned in close.

"Oh? And what would that be?" Isabela couldn't fight back her smile. Hawke reached down and took both of Isabela's hands in hers, slowly intertwining their fingers.

"I..." Hawke grinned, "... am an _**amazing**_ chef."

fin.

Bonus:

Bodahn returned to the Hawke estate to the sound of giggles coming from the kitchen. He cocked his ear, confused for a moment, and listened.

"... but what if I have a craving for something salty?"

"Oh, I'm sure I can whip something up that will satisfy that hunger."

"It had better! I'm suddenly feeling ravenous."

Bodahn nodded when he recognized the second voice. He turned and spotted Sandal, who had just entered the room from the library. "Ah, there you are, my boy. It seems messere Isabela shall be joining us for supper tonight. I do hope messere Hawke will be making her delicious pot roast."

"Enchantment!" came the happy reply.

_Author's Note: I had been somewhat thrown by what happened when Hawke and Isabela had effectively committed to loving each other, immediately followed by Zevran's appearance stirring up Isabela's request for a bit of physical fun. I thought about Hawke's feelings on the matter, and about Isabela's viewpoint. This particular incident also came up repeatedly in the forum talk, when I came up with a rather unusual euphemism. This story grew from that._


	2. Earrings

Isabela was on a mission. One that could not be denied. She darted through the streets, breezily brushing by any who would stand in her way. She ducked behind the view of the guardsmen , weaved through the alleys of Lowtown, and climbed the steps to Hightown. She moved forward through the Hightown market, taking care to attract as little attention as possible. She wrapped herself in a shawl and hunched her back to make herself look older, and stepped gingerly as if she had some chronic back pain, as she neared her target.

Turning the corner, she could see the heraldic crest marking the estate of her victim. She took a moment to slide around the corner and hid behind a pillar, quickly glancing back and forth to ensure that none had spotted her. She withdrew a dagger and lightly wedged it into the window latching, working it back and forth until the window gave a small pop and cracked open. She took one last glance and silently swore to herself. A figure was approaching the estate. There was no doubt, somebody was about to ruin all of her careful planning. Isabela grinned inwardly.

"Well, not if I have anything to say about it."

Wrapping her shawl about her face and shoulders, she glided out from her hiding spot silently, made her way toward her new target. Then, with one smooth motion, Isabela snaked her left arm around her target's neck while locking her right hand over the victim's mouth. The tiny girl she had assaulted had barely registered the contact, but Isabela was already moving. Quick as a jungle cat, Isabela had returned to her hiding spot around the corner, hidden from sight, with her hostage in tow. Isabela's hapless prey had started making noises, but her strong hand covering her mark's mouth muffled most of the sound such that the ambient noise covered it up.

"Hush, Kitten! It's just me. Calm down, or you'll ruin everything."

Her captive's large green eyes widened in recognition and the sound stopped. Isabela released her grip, and Merrill breathed in deeply while turning to face her.

"Isabela! What are you -" she began, as Isabela quickly clapped a hand back over Merrill's mouth.

"Keep your voice down!" Isabela hissed fiercely.

Merrill made an affirmative gurgling noise and nodded, and Isabela slowly withdrew her hand again.

"Isabela, what are you doing here?" whispered Merrill.

"Something very important, and I need you to help me with it."

"But this is Hawke's estate! Why not just go in through the front door?"

"Because that would ruin it. Besides, doing it this way is much more fun!" Isabela flashed a grin at the elf. "I had planned on making this a lone undertaking, but I think having you along will make it much more enjoyable."

"But... what is it we're doing?"

"I'll explain everything once we're inside. Quickly, before anyone sees us." Isabela finished prying the window open, and pointed at it. She linked her fingers together and Merrill placed one shoeless foot onto Isabela's interlocked hands. Isabela lifted as Merrill stepped, and Merrill went up and through the window. As Isabela prepared to make her entrance, she heard the tinkling of breaking porcelain. Isabela giggled to herself as she climbed in through the window.

"By the Dread Wolf, I hope that wasn't valuable" Merrill squeaked as she tried to clean up what looked like a shattered pink vase of some sort. A white flower lay in a small damp spot on the carpet. A lily, perhaps?

Isabela unfurled a small scroll with a crude diagram on it. Merrill snuck over to peek. "What are we doing?" she asked.

"Our target is down this hallway. Take a left after the third door, then through the large entrance at the end of the corridor." Isabela punctuated each direction with a tap on her crude map of the estate. Merrill nodded. The pair moved quickly and quietly down the hallway. Isabela's reconnaissance had been useful, Sandal and Bodahn were not at in this part of the estate today, and Orana was practicing her lute in her own quarters. Isabela grabbed the latch on the large door and tugged it open. As the door opened, she smiled wickedly. Merrill's eyes widened.

"Isabela, are we-" she began, as Isabela once again clapped a hand over her mouth and hauled her into the room before she could be heard. Isabela glanced back down the empty hallway and quickly shut the door behind them.

"Alright, Kitten. We're here." Isabela reached into her belt pouch and retrieved a pair of small rocks. Striking them together, she lit the tinder which started a merry fire beneath the large water basin. She pulled a lever and the warming water began to pool in the large stone bath before them.

"Isabela, this is Hawke's bath room!" Merrill squeaked.

"Exactly. I've been saying I needed a bath for ages, and the facilities at the Hanged Man are atrocious. I'd rather have a barrel of cold rainwater and a brush." Isabela walked over and began undoing the ties and clasps of Merrill's chain mail.

"Isabela! What are you doing?" blurted Merrill.

"Well, you can't take a bath in your clothing, kitten." Isabela smiled as she removed the remainder of Merrill's clothes and started on her own.

"I... I just came to water the plants!" wailed Merrill.

"We can do that afterwards. Come on." Through years of practice, Isabela had learned to shed her clothing very quickly. She left them in a small pile, and turned to examine the elf girl. She smiled warmly as she looked over Merrill's lithe, petite body. She dipped a toe into the water, then picked up the wicker basket Hawke had kept her bathing things in.

"But... but..." Merrill shivered a bit and couldn't stop staring at Isabela. Isabela grinned wickedly and took a step toward the shaking elf. Merrill took a step backward, into the water.

"In you go. I need you to wash my back." Isabela gave Merrill a gentle push, and into the bath they went.

"Elgar'nan, this is... amazing!" marveled Merrill. The bath was large enough to hold several people. The stone tub had been constructed from volcanic rock, designed to keep the heat of the water in as long as possible. Small wisps of steam had begun rising from the water, and the gentle heat felt wonderful on Merrill's smooth skin. She could feel all of the tension in her body being slowly leeched from her form by the comforting warmth.

Silently, Isabela brought out the bath salts and added them to the warm water. She retrieved a scrubbing brush and a cake of perfumed soap from the basket, and began to scrub. As the minutes passed, Isabela could feel tension drain out of her body. She gently massaged Merrill's back and applied soap and suds, gently washing the elf. Isabela tapped Merrill on the shoulder, then turned indicating she was ready for her treatment as well.

"Why did we do this, Isabela? Why are we sneaking into Hawke's bath, when we could easily just have asked? I'm sure she'd have let us use it." asked Merrill, as she began building a lather on her hands.

"Because, Kitten... things are often not appreciated if they are simply given. To truly appreciate them, you must take them."

"I'm not sure I understand."

"Don't worry your pretty little head about it. It's just more fun this way."

Merrill gave a small giggle. "Pretty? Me? I feel like a knobby stick next to you, Isabela. Especially naked."

"Shush, Merrill. You're so sweet I could eat you for dessert. You're beautiful, and don't let anyone tell you otherwise. Especially you." Isabela splashed a bit of water at Merrill, who giggled. Merrill finished scrubbing Isabela's back, and sank to her chin in the water.

" Have you been snacking without me again?" came an amused third voice. Isabela nervously glanced around the room, until she settled her eyes on Hawke, looking at the two of them in her bath.

"Hawke! What are you doing home?" stammered Isabela.

"I decided to take an afternoon bath, and I heard voices." Hawke smiled smugly. "So... is this a snacking session?"

"Of course not! You know I'd never..."

Hawke raised an eyebrow. Isabela pursed her lips.

"Well, maybe not _NEVER_, but... I wouldn't..."

Hawke crossed her arms beneath her breasts.

Isabela sighed. Then, gently, she said "No, Hawke. I'm saving my appetite."

"Isabela hasn't eaten a thing! We were never even near the kitchen!" chimed in Merrill helpfully.

Hawke nodded, and discarded her robe. "All right then. Scoot over and hand me the basket," she said as she stepped into the bath. As Hawke began scrubbing, Merrill burst into a fit of giggles.

"Is there something amusing about how I wash, Merrill?" inquired Hawke.

"No no, I get it! Isabela, I get it!" Merrill giggled.

"Kitten, what are you talking about?" asked Isabela.

"That story you told me a few days ago. I finally understand it!" said Merrill, happily.

"What story might this be?" wondered Hawke.

"The one about the rash!" laughed Merrill. Isabela's eyes widened first in surprise, then recognition. Then she, too, began to laugh.

"Kitten, you are too adorable. It really took you three days to understand that?" chuckled Isabela.

"Do I even want to know what you two are talking about?" wondered Hawke aloud, as she continued to scrub herself with the brush.

"Oh do tell her, Isabela! It's a delightful story, Hawke, you'll see!" nodded Merrill.

Hawke set down the brush and motioned for Isabela to begin.

Isabela shook away her giggles and cleared her throat.

"One day, not long ago, a young woman went to meet Anders at his clinic. She was very embarrassed about her condition, and was extremely shy. Anders promised to keep her confidence," she began. Merrill continued to giggle.

"The young woman told him 'Ser Healer, I am gravely concerned for this rash that appears on my inner thighs. I haven't been able to discern a cause for it! Can you please provide me a salve, or a balm to heal me? I am afraid that it might cause permanent injury!' Anders carefully examined the young girl, looking at the rash with the practiced eye of a trained physician. After he tried a few different ointments on it, he came to a realization."

Merrill submerged herself to her nose, and small bubbles of laughter continued to escape her lips.

"Anders put a hand gently on the woman's shoulder and said 'Young lady, I have divined the source of your malady. Do not fear, for it is not dangerous.'"

Hawke nodded, concentrating on Isabela's story. Isabela watched Hawke's bright eyes carefully for her reaction.

"Anders chuckled a bit and said 'The rash should not be your concern. Simply tell your lover that her earrings are not made of real gold.'"

Hawke began coughing uncontrollably and went scarlet to her ears, as Isabela broke into a fit of giggling.

"Wow, Hawke understood it immediately! Wasn't it a delightful story, Hawke?" wondered Merrill, looking at the still-flushed Hawke.

After fighting back the coughing fit, Hawke took a deep breath, stared directly at Isabela's wickedly grinning face and said, without a hint of emotion, "Delightful."

"Hawke, I think you should get out of the bath soon. It looks like the heat is getting to you." advised Merrill.

"All right, I think I'm finished with today's bath." Isabela stood up, water dripping from her bronzed body. She reached for a towel from the small stack that Hawke had brought in with her and began toweling her hair dry.

"Yes, thank you so much for letting us come here, Hawke" nodded Merrill as she rose to dry herself as well.

"Be prepared for tomorrow. We are visiting the Wounded Coast, and the band of blood mages we are after is very dangerous," cautioned Hawke.

"Yes, Hawke. Mythal watch over us, I shall be ready." promised Merrill, as she finished dressing.

"You know I'm always ready for a tumble, Hawke." winked Isabela as she pulled on one glorious boot.

Hawke motioned Isabela over to the bath, as Merrill opened the door to leave. Once the door shut, Isabela conspiratorially padded over to the lady in the bath and leaned down.

"Isabela... did you really have to tell her the earring story?" sighed Hawke.

"She was looking at me with those great big kittenish eyes!" apologized Isabela.

Hawke sighed again, pouting.

"You are the cutest thing." Isabela leaned down and kissed Hawke lightly on the cheek. Giving her bootstrap a final tug, she leaned in and murmured into Hawke's ear "And thank you for the real earrings."

-fin

_Author's Note: I am sending out a request for pre-readers! The next story is being quite developed in my mind, and I want it to be good. Anyone who is willing to help provide feedback for pacing, flow, character and grammar sanity checks would be greatly appreciated. "Earrings" as a story has undergone several massive changes, including the last third of it being completely rewritten (and a totally different title). I wasn't happy with it before, but wanted to make Isabela "win" this one, since Hawke was the victor (in my mind) in "Cupcakes". I think the finished story is much better than the previous incarnation, which will hopefully be struck from the minds of everyone who read it. Until next time, cheers._


	3. Revenge

Revenge

The dwarf looked down at the pile of documents on his desk and sighed. He quickly circled one last paragraph in red ink, then tossed the contract he had just finished reviewing into the "done" stack. Noting how woefully small it seemed next to the "still to do" stack, he pinched the bridge of his nose and muttered to himself, "By the ancestors, the next paragon had better invent a way to never have to deal with contracts again."

He was still grumbling when he heard a knock at his door. Without looking, he beckoned his guest to enter. The hooded figure marched into the room and tossed a large, canvas-covered bundle onto the stack of parchments, scattering them on impact. The dwarf looked up at his visitor.

"Is this what I think it is?" he asked. The guest nodded. His eyes narrowed. "I think I understand what it is you want me to do. What I don't understand is why."

"Because, Varric." returned his visitor. "Only you are uniquely qualified for this."

"You've got that right," conceded Varric. He reached into the bundle and withdrew the sheaf of parchments inside. He licked the tip of his quill and uncorked a fresh inkpot of red ink.

"Let's begin before I change my mind." said Varric, as he turned the first page.

* * *

><p>The Perils of Princess Isabel<p>

Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, lived the fair princess Isabel. She was well known for her beauty and courage, leading her nomadic, sea-faring people from coast to coast. As she grew from a child to a strong young maiden, tales of her bravery and beauty traveled from the deepest reaches of the Anderfels to the frozen peaks of the Frostback Mountains. Princely suitors came from far and wide seeking the hand of the lovely princess in marriage, but though she amused herself with some, none were ever able to tame her fierce heart.

One day, the elderly King of the sea folk was struck by a deadly illness. The dreadful disease caused the poor man to slowly waste away. Princess Isabel was beside herself with worry, for she loved her father greatly. She sent out wave riding messengers far and wide, searching for a physician who could cure the ailing King. Many tried to treat him, but none succeeded. As the King's condition grew steadily worse, so did the desperation of Princess Isabel.

Eventually, the last of the messengers returned. The King of the mysterious nation of the Oxmen proposed a bargain. The Oxmen needed the blood of a mature princess with a fierce heart, and their court wizards knew arcane magics far beyond the means of mortal men. In exchange for curing the elderly King of the sea folk from his deadly disease, the Oxmen demanded the life of the Princess on her twenty fifth birthday. The blood sacrifice would open a doorway to the fabled and sacred Treasure of Koslun, the mystical artifacts that the Oxmen had spent centuries seeking. Isabel was utterly fearful of the sinister Oxmen, but she loved her father dearly and tearfully agreed to their terms.

The bargain struck, Princess Isabel looked on as her father, the King, began regaining his health and recovered from his infirmity. To seal the bargain, the Ox King gave the princess a sacred tome -

* * *

><p>"What? A tome? Really?" complained Varric.<p>

"What's wrong with a tome? It's more accurate. People should recognize it."

"You've got the Rivaini as a princess curing her loving father of some magical disease, and you want to use some reading material as your hook? People don't care about getting the details right as long as it tells a good story. You want something more memorable. More romantic."

"Then what? A sword? A ring?"

"Not bad... But I was thinking of something like this," growled Varric as he scribbled furiously on the parchment with his quill.

* * *

><p>To seal the bargain, the Ox King gave the Princess an enchanted amulet which would lead the Oxmen to the sacred Treasure of Koslun, but only when it had gained enough power from the fierce heart of the fully grown Princess. Day by day, the necklace would absorb the magic of her heart and grow stronger, until it gained enough power to open its magical path into the Fade, the home of the Treasure of Koslun, and cause Isabel's heart to cease to beat for her.<p>

Princess Isabel, after seeing her father had recovered, decided to enact a daring plan to run from the Oxmen. In the dead of night, she would take her ship and sail south, while the rest of the sea folk would sail north. The Oxmen were bound by the magic of the amulet, and could only pursue Princess Isabel. She led them on a dangerous chase across the sea, where a storm struck and shipwrecked both the Princess and the pursuing Oxmen near the City of Chains. Disaster struck, as Princess Isabel emerged from the wreckage without the amulet. The Princess went into hiding, fearing the Oxmen would kill her, while the Oxmen carved out a holding in the land nearby and tirelessly searched for both the Princess and the amulet.

The Princess was forced to conceal her identity, dressing in rags and hiding among commoners. However, she never gave up her fierce heart, and each day she lived was another day that she denied the Oxmen their sacred Treasure. She searched alone for the amulet, hoping to one day find the Treasure of Koslun and take it for herself.

* * *

><p>"No, we can't use that," sighed Varric.<p>

"Why not?" asked his partner.

"She's supposed to be a sympathetic character. The readers need to identify with her and want her to succeed. A greedy pirate princess won't do it for them."

"Then what would you suggest?"

"Something more sweet and sappy, like this. It will better lead into what comes next," said the dwarf, as he touched quill to inkpot again and began making his revisions.

* * *

><p>She searched alone for the amulet, hoping to find the treasure and use it to restore the nation of the sea folk to their former glory.<p>

One fateful day, years later, Princess Isabel was discovered by some rival treasure hunters also searching for the magical amulet. Far from a weak-hearted maiden, she challenged their leader to a duel late at night on the steps of the Chantry. She battled him fiercely with quickness and wit, but when she was about to win, the cowardly bandit bade his other scoundrels attack her. Princess Isabel was quickly put on the defensive, and was backed into a corner. As the brigands loomed over her, a cry rang out in the darkness!

* * *

><p>"A bit much, don't you think?"<p>

"Relax. They eat this sort of thing up with a spoon. I use it all the time in 'Hard in Hightown'".

* * *

><p>Isabel could barely make out the dashing new figure that had joined the melee. Her rescuer moved with the battle-hardened grace of a soldier, and exhibited both wisdom and cunning as the ruffians fell, one after another. After they were finally dispatched, the Princess' savior reached a gloved hand out to her, and bade her rise. Taking the hero's hand, Princess Isabel looked up at the smiling face of her guardian, and was surprised to see that it was a bright-eyed young woman of similar age. The heroine introduced herself as Ser Hawk, and Princess Isabel felt her fierce heart stir. Princess Isabel shared her dreams of recovering the amulet, finding the Treasure of Koslun, and restoring her people to glory. Ser Hawk was so moved by Princess Isabel's quest that she knelt and pledged herself to Princess Isabel's cause. Thereafter, the two were inseparable and their many adventures searching for the enchanted amulet became things of legend.<p>

It was Princess Isabel and Ser Hawk that befriended and freed Lupus, the beautiful Brooding Beast of Tevinter from his cruel, magister master. It was Princess Isabel and Ser Hawk that discovered the secret Primeval Thaig in the Deep Roads, and led the rich, exceedingly handsome dwarven nobleman Arric to his great, wonderful-

* * *

><p>"That's enough, Varric."<p>

"Spoilsport."

* * *

><p>- who finally retired to his estate, surrounded by nubile young dwarven serving women. And it was Princess Isabel and Ser Hawk who avenged the deaths of house Valmont, restoring the absentee prince of Ostwick to his seat of royalty. During their journeys together, they became friends with Danders the oppressed scholar, Sheryl the elven Witch of the Wilds with an obsession for mirrors, and Ser Valentine the chevalier who had vowed never to speak a single word. With each passing adventure, the fierce Princess Isabel and the steadfast heroine Hawk grew closer, but as her twenty fifth birthday drew near, so also did the smallest of doubts grow within Princess Isabel's fierce heart. Princess Isabel became afraid of her flourishing feelings for Ser Hawk, for she knew that the day foretold by the Oxmen magi was rapidly approaching and she did not wish Hawk to suffer when Isabel's heart stopped beating.<p>

That foretold day came all too soon. On the eve of Princess Isabel's twenty fifth birthday, she finally discovered the location of the missing amulet. The enchanted amulet had been found by a fisherman, who had sold it to a merchant. The amulet was then stolen from the merchant by a thief, who was apprehended by one of the city guardsmen. The guard captain took the beautiful amulet from his subordinate, and gave it as a gift to the Viscount of the City of Chains. Princess Isabel ran to Ser Hawk to share the wonderful news, and they gathered their companions to finally retrieve the amulet and find the Treasure of Koslun. However, all was not well.

The Oxmen also knew the day was approaching, and had progressively increased their frantic searches for the Princess and the amulet. That night, in a fit of desperation, the Oxmen began a full-scale attack on the City of Chains. The Ox King led his forces in a fierce battle to take the castle of the Viscount, engaging the templars and the guardsmen of the city in the streets.

Princess Isabel's heart was fuller than she had ever felt before. Her feelings of dread and doubt warred internally with her growing feelings of joy and love, and she could not stand before Ser Hawk's gentle gaze lest she falter in her quest. During the battle, the Princess quietly slipped away from her comrades. She was determined not to let Ser Hawk die for her sake, and so she secretly embarked on her quest to recover the amulet alone. She stole her way into the castle like a thief, hiding in the shadows and moving as silently as a ghost. While biting back her tears, she finally found the enchanted amulet that had been draining the power of her fierce heart for so long. She clutched it in her hands, and began to utter the magically engraved words on the amulet. Even as a doorway in the air opened to the Fade realm and the softly glowing light of the Treasure of Koslun welcomed her, she heard the sounds of pitched battle coming from the throne room of the Viscount. Unable to ignore the sounds of battle, she crept to the doorway nearby to take a last look.

The Oxmen had pushed the defenders into the throne room of the castle, where Ser Hawk and her companions desperately fought to hold off the invading forces. The Ox King led the charge, crossing blades with Ser Hawk as they danced a deadly waltz of destruction. Ser Hawk saw Princess Isabel, but rather than being angry at the Princess for abandoning them, Ser Hawk waved her away, and attempted to draw the enraged Oxmen even further from the golden doorway in the air. Princess Isabel looked at the beckoning Treasure of Koslun and smiled, before turning and leaping down to join the fight herself.

She fought with all of her ferocity and speed, ducking and weaving and dancing her way to the side of her beloved Ser Hawk, still locked in deadly combat with the Ox King. No oxman weapon touched her as she ran. Tearing the amulet from around her neck, she shouted, pleaded for the Ox King to stop. Handing forth the amulet, she begged that the Ox people spare the citizenry of the City of Chains, for both she and the amulet had finally been returned to the Ox King. And then the clock struck midnight.

Princess Isabel's heart stirred, and she fell to her knees. Her strength left her, as her heart slowed. Ser Hawk shouted defiance, but Princess Isabel could no longer hear her words clearly. The Oxmen had stopped fighting, but Ser Hawk and the Ox King had taken up their weapons once again. She tried to beg them to stop, plead for them to stop, to let Ser Hawk go free, but her strength was gone, and her lips dry and parched.

Ser Hawk's battle with the Ox King was fierce, long and brutal. Blow was answered by blow, steel met sinew, and metal dug into bone. Finally, Ser Hawk landed the final, deadly strike, her blade sliding cleanly through the Ox King's chest and emerging behind. Beaten, the Ox King fell to his knees. Ser Hawk threw the amulet to the dying Ox King, and ran to Princess Isabel, cradling her body in her arms. Princess Isabel could see the the Oxmen beginning to withdraw peacefully at the Ox King's final order. She smiled at Ser Hawk, even as her vision began to dim. And then all was dark.

When Princess Isabel awoke, she thought she had passed from the mortal world into the Fade as a spirit. But when she looked at the foot of her bed at the form of a sleeping Ser Hawk, she knew that she had not perished. Curious, she inquired as to what had happened, for the magic of the Oxmen had been legendary in its strength. Danders, the rogue scholar, explained to her that the magic binding her heart to the locket had ended when her heart no longer beat for her. Only then had she realized what had happened. As Ser Hawk awoke from her slumber and looked at Isabel with those bright, warm eyes, Princess Isabel finally realized that her heart beat only for Ser Hawk.

* * *

><p>"Alright, it's done," groaned Varric, leaning back in his chair and corking his fourth ink pot. "I think that's about as good as we can make it. We'll take it to the printing blocks tomorrow, and start getting it distributed."<p>

"Thank you, Varric. You've been a great help to me in this endeavor."

"Just answer me this... why? Why go through all this trouble to write such a fairytale?" asked the dwarf.

"Why... revenge, of course. There's nothing that I could do or say to Isabela directly that would have any effect on her at all... but a story like this that's so close to the truth, and about those feelings she pretends not to have is bound to drive her up the wall. With this, we can prove that the pen is indeed mightier than the whore." His guest narrowed her shining green eyes, and smiled a wicked smile.

"Remind me never to get on your bad side. It seems to be unhealthy," Varric chuckled. Then he grinned back at her. "You always did know how to scare the piss out of me, Aveline."

fin.

BONUS:

The weekly game of diamondback had just begun, when the door to the room suddenly swung inward with a loud crash. Six pairs of eyes looked up at the Rivaini woman breathing heavily and looking as if she was ready to chew iron ingots and spit out nails that had just kicked in the door. She stomped forward, drawing a large curved blade from her back. She slammed a familiar-looking sheaf of parchments down onto the center of the table with one hand, then stabbed her wicked-looking dagger through the center of the book, pinning it to the table.

"_What the SHIT is THIS?_" Isabela screeched, glaring from face to face at the table. Varric and Donnic snickered behind their gloved hands, while Fenris seemed to be trying his hardest to conceal his mirth behind a broody look. Anders was smiling into his hand as well, glancing at each of the faces around him and trying to imprint the look on Isabela's face into his memory. Hawke was doing her best to look sympathetic.

"It's friend-fiction! I do it out of love." Isabela could almost feel the waves of smugness rolling off of the smirking Aveline like a waterfall.

"I've been _accosted _by an_ army of little girls_ asking if I am Princess Isabel and fawning all over me! You've turned my life into a _living_ _nightmare_! _You... you..._" Isabela sputtered.

"I know. I am horrible. Every inch." laughed Aveline.

* * *

><p><em>Author's Note: This is the first time I've tried an undertaking quite like this. I wanted to try to meld two totally different writing styles by using my usual dialogue-intensive style to frame the other, while reinterpreting the basic story of Hawke and Isabela's romance in a way that would truly feel like a fairytale. After thinking about the fairy tale, and wanting to do a story featuring characters I had not written yet, I realized that Aveline would make the perfect 'villain' in this situation (thank you, friend-fiction banter. Thank you SO much). Who'd have thought that a story almost entirely about Hawke and Isabela wouldn't have Hawke and Isabela actually in it?<em>

_Also, I don't really do angst. This is probably about as close as you'll get to me writing angsty stuff, so enjoy it while it lasts. In all likelihood, I probably will never write much about the three year gap where Isabela took off.__ If I do, it certainly won't be an angst fest._

_Finally, a huge thank you to all of my pre-readers for their continued input and feedback. None of this would be possible without you._


	4. Marathon

Marathon

"Maker's breath!" exclaimed Isabela, rolling over to the other side of the bed. Her chest rose and fell rapidly as she gasped for one ragged breath after another. "Where did you learn that last bit?"

Hawke shook her head and held up a hand, while breathing rapidly. After catching her own breath, she reached over and took the Rivaini's hand in hers, squeezing gently. "I told you I was an amazing chef, didn't I?" Hawke lazily replied.

"I think I'm going to have to steal that last one," laughed Isabela. She pulled a plump pillow under her head and settled back.

"Are you sure you have it right? I'd better observe that technique firsthand to make certain."

Isabela propped herself up on one elbow. "Are you really going to grade me?" she asked.

"For purely academic purposes, of course. I'd rate your current performance a seven of ten."

Isabela pursed her lips as she hit Hawke with her pillow. "Only a seven?" she protested with mock indignation. "Maker, what am I going to have to do to earn a ten?" she wondered aloud as she playfully smothered Hawke with the fluffy cushion.

After a moment, Hawke pulled the pillow aside and squeezed Isabela's hand again. "What are your plans for tomorrow? I have some errands about the city I need to run, and I'd like you to come with."

"Errands? Am I your servant now?" groused Isabela.

"You know it isn't like that. I want to spend more time with you. And it really wouldn't be such a bad thing if the four words we say to each other most often are something other than 'Maker, yes, right there'."

"We spend lots of time together already," pouted Isabela. "I like the way we spend time together."

"As do I... I would just like the rest of Kirkwall to know how happy I am." sighed Hawke. She waited for it, wondering if her bait was sufficient.

A pause. Then, gently, the response. "You're... really happy with me?"

Hawke smiled and squeezed Isabela's hand again, gently rubbing her thumb against the back of the pirate's palm.

"Seven out of ten."

Isabela could practically _hear_ Hawke's smirk. "I do believe I have just been insulted. I demand satisfaction. Prepare yourself for a duel, Serah Hawke." mocked Isabela, as she rolled over and straddled the Champion.

* * *

><p>Hawke smiled as she briskly navigated the Viscount's keep and down the stone steps to the barracks. The morning was always the best time to visit the keep, there were fewer petitioners and supplicants to the administrators, so more work could get done. Isabela padded along quietly behind her, an odd look on her face as she noticed the assorted nobles, guardsmen and even regular townsfolk looking at her. She was used to turning heads occasionally, but it felt stranger than usual. A little girl holding a small rag doll smiled and energetically waved at her. Isabela gave a small smile and waved back, then looked at Hawke and moved a bit closer.<p>

"Ever since that blasted story was published, I can't go anywhere without people watching." Isabela complained.

"You'll get used to it. I hardly even notice it anymore," was Hawke's bland answer.

"Well, I'm not the bloody Champion of Kirkwall. I didn't ask for this." Isabela mumbled.

"We're here. Come on, don't you want your payment for killing the last of Evet's Marauders last week?" asked Hawke.

"Well... I could use a few more bits for my evening entertainment..." admitted Isabela. "Let's get this over with," the pirate sighed.

As the pair walked down the steps, they noticed several rows of guardsmen standing at attention. Aveline slowly paced back and forth in front of the assembly, reading out assignments from a small parchment she held in one gauntleted fist. Hawke waved, and Aveline nodded in acknowledgement. When Aveline's eyes moved from Hawke's face to Isabela's, she waited for eye contact and gave a small smile. Isabela colored slightly, and Hawke was sure she heard a murmur of the word "Princess" among the guards.

Hawke took Isabela's wrist and walked behind the assembled guardsmen. Once she was sure she wouldn't be a distraction to them, Hawke waved and pointed at Aveline's office door. Aveline gave a small nod and Hawke and Isabela quietly opened and entered the office of the Guard Captain.

"I'm sure they'll be done soon." reassured Hawke as she walked to the book case and glanced over the tomes there. Isabela was inspecting Aveline's desk of little trinkets here and there, when she came across a blank parchment. Smiling wickedly to herself, she took a quill and began drawing something.

"What are you up to, Isabela?" asked Hawke, as she walked over to the desk to take a look. Isabela looked up at Hawke, then back down at her sketch, then back up at Hawke again. Hawke felt a sudden chill run up her spine as she saw the gleam of mischief in those two amber eyes looking back at her, and the grin below them. Isabela stood up, took Hawke by the hand, and guided her over to the seat she'd just vacated. Placing her index finger lightly on Hawke's forehead, she pressed down gently. Hawke nervously sat down, looking up quizzically at her lover. Isabela grinned a wicked grin, and straddled Hawke's lap.

"I have a positively ravishing idea." she murmured into Hawke's ear, as she began to nibble and lick at Hawke's earlobe. She brought her hands up and started touching the places she knew Hawke liked.

"But... they're just outside!" protested Hawke. Unfortunately, her objection did not come out as strongly as she'd hoped, as she could barely muffle the moan she was trying desperately to hold back.

"My sweet Champion, you are well versed in battle tactics. This is one I'd like to think of as sinking two ships with one volley," she purred, and muffled any further protests in the most pleasant way she could.

* * *

><p>Aveline finally finished handing out assignments for the week. As the men and women of the guard dispersed, she made a few notes on her parchment, and motioned for the clerk to come over.<p>

"Please bring five gold sovereigns from the coffers, and file it under rewards paid. The last of Evet's Marauders have been dealt with," she said, as she signed her name on the parchment and marked it with the seal of the Guard Captain. The clerk bowed and walked up the steps toward the exit. Aveline nodded, and opened the door to her office.

Aveline narrowed her eyes as she heard a hurried "Shhh!" from near her desk. As she walked up, she found Isabela grinning at her smugly while sitting on her desk with legs crossed. Hawke was sitting in her chair looking guilty, and somewhat disheveled. The poor girl was flushed as well... Aveline hoped she hadn't picked up some sort of illness from associating with the pirate.

"I hope you've been behaving yourself," started Aveline. Isabela's smile never wavered.

"I hear that the Perils of Princess Isabel is selling well," Aveline tried again. Isabela continued to smile at her. Hawke looked at her and smiled. Something about it just seemed unsettling.

"The guards seem well, Aveline," offered Hawke.

"Yes, they are disciplined. Things are getting better, though the templars have been throwing their weight around," she nodded.

"This whole conflict is getting out of hand. I can't imagine it ending well."

"Captain, the reward purse" announced the clerk as he entered the room and handed Aveline an envelope that clinked when it changed hands. Aveline nodded, and the clerk bowed and left. Aveline handed the envelope to Hawke as she stood up. Isabela hopped to her feet and moved to leave.

"What _is_ it, Isabela? You look like the cat that ate the canary!" exclaimed Aveline, exasperated. Isabela threw her head back and laughed a rich, musical laugh as the pair left the office. Aveline sighed, sitting down at her desk. It was a mess; it looked like Isabela had knocked over practically everything on it. Her eyes narrowed as she spied a crumpled bit of parchment with a small skull and crossbones drawn on it. Unfolding it, her eyes widened, then narrowed again.

"Captain. It's time to inspect the patrols," announced Guardsman Brennan from the doorway. Aveline, jolted from her reverie, rose to leave. She tightened her fist, crumpling the parchment again.

"Are you alright, Captain? You don't look well." asked Brennan, concerned.

" I think I just threw up a little in my mouth."

* * *

><p>"Alright, that's one down. Where are we headed now?" asked Isabela, laughing merrily.<p>

"I can't believe you did that. I can't believe _I_ did that," wailed Hawke.

"Admit it. You loved it every minute of it," grinned Isabela. When Hawke didn't immediately respond, Isabela grabbed Hawke's arm and hugged it to her chest. "That good, eh?" she chortled.

Hawke cleared her throat. "We're going to visit Fenris next. I need to ask him to join us for the Wounded Coast expedition next week. He knows those caves very well, and I'd like not to get lost in them if we can help it."

"Mmm, that man is a feast for the eyes," purred Isabela. "A feast for other things, too," she added after a moment. Hawke did not respond, as the duo walked through the streets of Hightown. Isabela looked at her lover carefully. Hawke seemed lost in thought most of the way there, as if she was trying to internalize some new bit of information. Isabela recognized that look when she saw it; Hawke was planning something. As they turned toward Fenris' estate, Isabela did not notice the surreptitious glance that Hawke threw her way when she wasn't looking.

The front of the estate looked worn and abandoned. The ivy had grown over most of the windows, and the stonework was in disrepair. Hawke had heard the neighboring nobles have conversations about reclaiming the mansion, but none of them were willing to challenge the ghost of the manor. Fenris had a good chuckle about that particular name when she told him.

The two women entered the manor house, closing the door behind them. As they stepped through the foyer, Hawke glanced at Isabela again.

"Do you really like those markings all over his body?" Hawke asked with a gleam in her eye.

" I must admit, my imagination has done a number on those markings," purred Isabela. "Do you remember Zevran? Did you know he has tattoos as well?"

"I saw the one on his face, but I didn't think too much of it," said Hawke.

"Sweet thing, those tattoos are quite a dish for the eyes. They do a marvelous job of accentuating key curves and parts of the body..." Isabela closed her eyes, relishing the memories. Then she felt it... hot breath on her neck.

"I am still not seeing it... do you mean something like this?" Hawke murmured as she traced a curving line from Isabela's collarbone down her front with her finger.

"Mmm... I think I didn't quite catch that motion. Would you mind showing me again?" purred Isabela throatily.

"I can certainly try," offered Hawke. This time, she used her fingernail to draw a more complicated, swirling pattern in Isabela's exposed skin.

"I think I need a bigger canvas. I can barely make out the shapes," giggled Hawke, as she took Isabela's hand in hers and tugged her towards one of the abandoned bedrooms.

"Well, that certainly won't do. How can I deny an aspiring artist her medium?" smiled Isabela, as she followed Hawke's gentle pulling.

* * *

><p>Fenris closed his eyes as he exhaled slowly. Clapping his hands together, he began his movement. Slowly at first, then quickening as the motions came through his body, he danced. He completed a circle, then leaped, twirling his body in the air for two full revolutions before kicking one leg out in a graceful arc. Landing on his leading foot, he pushed off while spreading both arms out wide. He arched his back delicately, then brought his arms back in, and broke into a run. He reached his arms forward and planted his hands, flipping his body in one somersault, then another, and a third. He pressed his legs into the ground, and launched himself upward and forward, tucking his legs in and flipping himself forward once, twice, a third time, before landing gracefully on his feet. One step to the right, two to the left, a pivot, a ball change, followed by a hip movement offset by his arms straightening toward the opposite side. He wiped the sheen of sweat from his brow and exhaled again.<p>

"When you told Varric you ran room to room choreographing routines, we all thought you were joking," he heard a woman's voice say. His eyes shot open. He frantically scanned the area, looking for signs of possible attackers. Articles of discarded clothing littered the floor and doorway of one of the unused bedrooms. His eyes focused on Hawke and Isabela sitting naked together on the bed, their limbs seemingly entangled with each other in a semblance of a human knot. Isabela was quietly giggling into Hawke's shoulder.

An uncomfortable silence followed, hanging palpably in the air like a dark cloud. Glances were exchanged.

"It's not what you think. These are battle preparations," Fenris began. Isabela raised an eyebrow and smirked.

"Really, it is important to have the proper footing in a fight. Isabela, you of all people should be familiar with this." Fenris sounded confident, but his posture betrayed his uneasiness. Isabela whispered something into Hawke's ear, and Hawke giggled. Fenris took a deep breath and sighed.

"I will not say anything if you extend the same courtesy." Fenris finally offered.

"I think that would be wise," nodded Isabela happily.

* * *

><p>"Did you see the look on his face?" laughed Isabela as she draped her leather-clad left arm around Hawke's shoulders while wildly gesturing with her right. Isabela pointed into the distance and performed an exaggerated lunge, mocking the motions as Hawke giggled and onlookers began to stare.<p>

"Come now, we promised not to say anything," chided Hawke.

"Who said anything about saying something? I'm thinking more about a re-enactment," snickered Isabela as she stood up.

"You do remember that we were _naked_ as all this was happening, don't you?" murmured Hawke as she brushed past.

"Of course, you goose. That was my favorite part!" agreed Isabela, as she caught up to the departing woman and hooked arms. "What do we have left on the docket?"

Hawke looked inside the leather bag slung over her shoulder and said "I need to deliver a package of medicinal herbs to Anders at his clinic. After that, I was thinking we might go to the docks, or perhaps visit the Hanged Man."

"Oh, that means we'll be passing through Lowtown, doesn't it? I've been meaning to take you to the most amazing hat shop I found there. Perhaps this whole spending time together out and about isn't quite so bad after all," admitted Isabela. She paused for a moment, then added "The sex helped a bit too."

Hawke nodded sagely, with a gracious smile on her face. Isabela raised an eyebrow.

"I know that face. That's your 'I told you so' face." accused Isabela.

"You were against this last night, you know," reminded Hawke.

"Balls," complained Isabela, before allowing the smile to return to her face. She gently tugged on Hawke's arm, and said "Come on. Those hats aren't going to wear themselves."

* * *

><p>Merrill looked down at the basket of fruits she had just purchased. An apple for today, a pear for tomorrow, and a bunch of grapes for the day after, she thought to herself. Along with a loaf of bread, a wheel of cheese and some salted pork, she had enough food for the coming week. She sniffed the bread. Hopefully, the weevils wouldn't find this loaf as quickly as they had found the last.<p>

She turned toward the herbalist's stall. She knew that the hawkers would take her for just another elf, so finding the items she needed for this week might be more difficult. In order to focus her mana better, the channeling ointment needed to be properly mixed. She had gathered the mandrake roots herself, and still had some dried spindleweed bundles back at her home in the alienage, but needed some fresh mugwort and embrium. However, she needed one special ingredient, and knew only one person who could get it for her.

"I hope she's feeling generous," Merrill thought to herself as she pointed at the small pile of mint leaves she wanted. The herb monger bundled them up and tied them with a bit of twine, and Merrill paid her the coin for her troubles.

"I'll just bring it up next time I see her," decided Merrill. Packing the rest of her ingredients into her basket, she continued padding her way through the marketplace in Lowtown. As she rounded a corner, she caught a glimpse of bright eyes, dark hair and tall, slim and lanky body turning the corner. Merrill pursed her lips and wondered what the Champion was doing in the Lowtown market during the afternoon. Remembering her decision to herself, Merrill walked in the direction she had seen Hawke go.

As she rounded the corner, she found herself looking down a long line of stalls where the hawkers and merchants were selling a variety of fabrics and clothing. She briefly looked over some of the Orlesian silks on display in a variety of wonderful colors. She particularly liked the way that the lavender looked. If she had a choice, she'd pair it with a pale gold, perhaps with a red trim. Silver would be an excellent match as well. She paused for a moment, imagining the colors melding together in her mind's eye.

"Watch where you're going, you stupid elf!" shouted a bearded hawker, as she accidentally bumped into him.

"I'm sorry!" squeaked Merrill. Urging herself to focus, Merrill continued to look for Hawke among the women and men moving through the marketplace.

"Hawke?" Merrill tapped on the shoulder of the dark-haired woman in front of her. She turned and then looked down at the elven girl in surprise.

"I'm sorry, do I know you? Your mistress perhaps?" asked the woman who was not Hawke.

"Abelas. I mistook you for someone else."

As she turned away to continue looking, Merrill wondered if it were just her mind playing tricks on her. She was about to turn away, when she heard a commotion in one of the larger pavilions. It belonged to one of the larger merchant companies, and clothing of all kinds lined the stalls. It even had an enormous selection of hats. Several men wearing fine coats were pointing out the quality of the merchandise, while dark-skinned serving girls quickly moved from customer to customer to make alterations with needle and thread. Near the finer clothing tables were several stalls with heavy curtains for the customers to change inside. One of the booths was apparently occupied. Merrill looked closer at the legs and feet of the occupant, and noticed that they belonged to a woman. She was apparently not alone; another pair of dark-skinned legs apparently shared her stall. It seemed one of the serving girls was helping her with some alterations.

"Hawke? Is that you?" called Merrill. The legs in the booth stiffened.

"Is that... Merrill?" came the slightly muffled voice from inside the booth.

"Yes, it's me. What brings you to Lowtown? I'm just doing some shopping for the week. I need some fresh fruit and bread. I've been hoping that the new channeling ointment will work better this week," Merrill began.

"Ah!" squeaked Hawke from inside the stall.

"Did you say something, Hawke?" asked Merrill.

"Mm... don't mind me, please continue," came the somewhat muffled reply.

"I am confident that the new formula for the channeling ointment will work much better than the last," chirped Merrill happily. "I'm adding mugwort and extra spindleweed this time, it should help bind the magic. Bind it better than last week, in any case. All that happened last week was a great puff of smoke and the smell of rotting fish. I'm sure this week will be much better!" said Merrill.

"Yes... Yes, that's very good," agreed Hawke rather urgently.

"I didn't think you were so interested in my work. It is reassuring that I am not the only one who cares for it. Ma serannas, Hawke." bubbled Merrill. She looked down at Hawke's feet. For some reason, Hawke was standing on her tip toes. The serving girl must be taking measurements or something for a long dress. Merrill thought about having to dress in finery for parties thrown by nobles, and nodded to herself.

"Hawke? I do have a favor to ask of you... do you remember that special fruit you found while you were helping Isabela deal with that Antivan fellow? The Ambrosia?" Merrill asked. She knew that the Ambrosia was a very rare and valuable fruit, something almost unheard of this side of Thedas. She waited for a reply, but got none. She continued on, hoping for the best. "Hawke, may I have some of the seeds from the fruit? I would like to use them as a binding agent for my new channeling ointment."

Merrill held her breath and closed her eyes, praying for a good answer.

"Maker, yes! Yes!" cried Hawke from the booth.

Merrill's eyes flew open and she breathed a sigh of relief."Thank you Hawke, you won't regret this! You'll see, the new channeling ointment will work wonderfully!" she bubbled. She heard some shifting behind the curtains.

"Ah!" gasped Hawke suddenly.

"Hawke? Are you alright in there? Did the serving girl stick you with a needle? I did that once, I couldn't sit down properly all day." Merrill furrowed her brow. "Would you like me to fetch one of the shopkeepers?"

"No, don't!" wailed Hawke. Merrill turned sharply to look at the curtain.

"Ah, she apologized for sticking me with the needle. I need to finish up here, but I'll have Bodahn drop off a packet of the seeds for you when I return home," offered Hawke's voice.

"Ma serannas, Hawke! You won't regret this, I'm sure!" said Merrill as she joyfully gathered her things. As she left the pavilion, she couldn't help but smile. It was such a wonderful day, and this time it was going to work for sure!

* * *

><p>"Is she gone?" murmured Isabela as she tugged her second boot on.<p>

"I... I think so," breathed Hawke, hastily pulling her tunic over her head. Isabela pulled Hawke's tunic down into place, then kissed her quickly on the lips.

"I am impressed you handled that so well. I'll have to do better next time," she purred. Hawke blushed.

"It is an amazing hat shop," Hawke admitted, then flushed a bit more. "What I saw of it, anyway."

"Come on then, my Champion. Let us go and try on a few more hats before the next errand," said Isabela grandly as she took hold of Hawke's arm again.

* * *

><p>"Must we?" groused Isabela.<p>

"This is the last place we need to go today. Anders needs these medicinal herbs," persuaded Hawke.

"I need a drink," grumbled Isabela.

"We can go to the Hanged Man after Anders gets these herbs. I'll buy the first round," soothed Hawke.

"The second round, too!" grumped Isabela.

"The second round, too," promised Hawke.

"I'm going to hold you to that, Hawke," announced Isabela, perking up. As the pair approached the lantern-lit clinic, they passed by several rag-clad people huddled near a small fire. Hawke knocked on the door, then pushed it open. Anders briefly looked up and waved to Hawke, before returning to the boy in front of him with the injured leg.

"The splint should keep it from shifting, but keep him off of it if you can. Apply this salve twice daily to the area to keep it from becoming infected, and make sure you change the bandages regularly," he instructed the boy's mother. She nodded and tearfully thanked the apostate.

"We come bearing gifts," said Hawke, extending the small bundle.

"Thank you for this, my supplies have been running low," nodded Anders. He looked behind Hawke, toward Isabela, who was waiting in the doorway.

"Come for your checkup?" he asked.

"I... no. That's not why I'm here," replied Isabela defensively.

"I haven't seen you around here lately, Isabela. I'm not sure whether that's a good or a bad thing, but I hope you're keeping yourself clean," Anders said, sighing.

"Yes, I've been _bathing_ quite regularly," agreed Isabela, glancing at Hawke.

"Did you read it? Did I manage to finally convince you?" asked Anders, turning to Hawke.

"I've read it, but I am not sure I agree. I still think that it's flawed," said Hawke diplomatically.

"You don't know what it's like... you've never been part of the circle, been treated like something less than human! You'd never know how many of us have died by our own hands, feeling like little more than animals. Treated like death is a mercy to us!" snarled Anders.

"You're right, I haven't. Anders, you clearly have the passion, and that's commendable. But you know as well as I do that battles are won by having the best strategy," reasoned Hawke. "You're not going to convince the common people of anything if you start fighting with the templars in the streets."

"I... I know, but... I just..."

"Did you really think that arguing with people and threatening their children is the best way to convince them to lend you aid? Perhaps you wish to kick the elderly while you're at it," suggested Hawke sarcastically.

Anders' shoulders slumped and he sighed, defeated. "I understand what you are saying, Hawke... I just don't see any other way. Justice... he drives me toward it, and when he does, I feel like there is no other recourse. He demands it, he demands vengeance for the fallen and justice for those still imprisoned. It is becoming difficult to see such things clearly."

"If you ask me, it's all a bunch of bullshit anyway," said Isabela as she sauntered over to the table. "It's sad, but it could be a lot worse." She gestured at the ragged, miserable people gathered around the small fire. "These poor blighters probably couldn't rub two bits together between them. Compared to their situation having a roof over your head, food to eat, books to read and armed guards for your protection doesn't seem half bad."

Anders' expression darkened. "What would you know of our plight, pirate? Creature comforts? An armed guard? Do you think they treat us with such respect? You weren't there during those sleepless nights. I heard the noises. The cries, the wails, and the sound of the souls of men being broken. These people may not have much, but at least they are free to choose their own fate," he angrily retorted.

"The freedom to choose starvation, disease, or, if they're lucky, just poverty. What a grand choice that must be," mocked Isabela.

"That's enough!" called Hawke, but Anders wasn't finished.

"It must be so easy to be you. You have everything you want. Your own ship, presented to you like a feast day gift. Your life saved, and even the Arishok defeated, all for you. Hawke's given you everything your selfish little heart could have ever wanted, and how do you repay her? Abandoning her for years after she retrieved your precious relic for you? Giving her whatever disgusting disease you picked up from your latest dockyard fling? You can't even keep your bloody legs together, let alone your thoughts. How could you ever understand what it means to care for the suffering of others?" spat Anders.

"I said that's enough!" cried Hawke, slamming her palm onto the table. Several of the Darktown residents turned to stare.

Isabela took a deep breath as if about to say something, but stopped. She exhaled slowly. "I'll see you later," she murmured to Hawke, as she turned and strode purposefully out the door. Hawke moved to follow Isabela, but was stopped by a hand on her arm.

"I... I'm sorry. I didn't mean... Please don't go," pleaded Anders.

Hawke sadly shook her head, and removed Anders' hand from her arm before quickly running out the door in hopes of catching up to Isabela. She squinted in the darkness, willing her eyes to adjust faster, but the pirate had already vanished.

"_Balls_," cursed Hawke.

* * *

><p>Isabela was lost in thought, watching the moonlight dance on the surface of the gently lapping waves. Her ship gently rose and fell with each swell that buoyed it up and brought it down. It was easier here... calmer. No annoying emotions to spin things about until she didn't know which direction was up. It was just... simple. She sighed and closed her eyes, enjoying the cool breeze against her skin.<p>

"I thought I might find you here."

Isabela opened her eyes. Hawke stood at the end of the gangplank leading up to her ship. She had her hands on her hips, and her bright eyes shone in the moonlight. She looked... relieved. Isabela took some comfort in Hawke's presence.

"Permission to come aboard, captain?" Hawke offered again. Isabela waved her over with one hand. Hawke carefully stepped along the gangplank and onto the deck. Hawke moved unsteadily, unused to the gentle rocking of the ship. Isabela made no move to help her, instead opting simply to watch with a small smile.

"He didn't mean it," started Hawke, once she reached the railing on the bow of the ship.

"Bullshit. But it's kind of you to say so," responded Isabela.

"He's right, you know," the pirate added. "I am selfish. I am shallow. And I accepted that about myself." She leaned back against the railing and looked up at the stars in the night sky. "I thought that I could just get away with all of the good fortune that's been heaped upon me. You protected me from Castillon's men. You fought the bloody Arishok for me. You even helped me get this ship. I couldn't have done it without you," she continued.

"You've helped me too," countered Hawke.

"Little bits. Here and there, perhaps. But there's something I wanted to say to you, Hawke... and I'm not quite sure how to say it," Isabela sighed.

"I'm listening," murmured Hawke.

Isabela reached down and took Hawke's hand in hers.

"Hawke... I just wanted you to know... I appreciate you. I honestly don't know how to even begin to thank you for all you've done."

Hawke gave Isabela's hand a gentle squeeze.

"I can't really explain it... but tonight at Anders' clinic, I felt ashamed. For the first time in ages, I felt ashamed. It scared the balls off me." Isabela chuckled for a moment, mulling over the mental image. "I've not felt that way in years... and I think I know why. I... I care, Hawke. I care about what you think of me."

Hawke stood silently for a moment, trying to think of how to respond. Isabela laughed, a musical sound that provided a wondrous melody to the harmony of the waves.

"It scares me. I've faced down dragons, bandits, blood mages, and even giant spiders without blinking, but as soon as I start caring about what somebody thinks of me, I get shivers," she said angrily. "It's pathetic! Do you realize that I haven't even been with anyone else since I returned to Kirkwall? Do you know how strange it is for me to imagine your face and body whenever I try to picture somebody else naked? And far stranger still, I find myself happier for it!"

She wiped at an eye. She couldn't cry here. She _would not_. Not in front of Hawke. She refused.

"This is all your damned influence, Hawke" she whispered, closing her eyes. The cool breeze tickled her cheek. She wiped at her eyes again, afraid that she had broken that final promise to herself. As she quietly cursed her weakness again, she felt a pair of lanky arms encircle her. A warm body pressed itself against her chest, and the comforting heat began to spread into her chilled belly. Isabela wrapped her arms around Hawke's neck, and simply relaxed. They stood quietly for a moment; just two souls alone together, bathed in moonlight.

Hawke gently pulled back to look at the woman in front of her. Isabela's eyes were shining, and the moonlight reflected off of her genuine golden earrings. Her lips parted a bit as she leaned forward. Hawke closed her eyes and began to lean in as well. That made it all the more surprising after a moment, when Isabela dropped one arm and pinched Hawke's ass as hard as she could. Hawke gave the cutest little scream of surprise.

"Maker's breath!" swore Hawke, as she hopped forward in pain.

"I told you that I care for you, not that I'm some besotted romantic fool," chuckled Isabela, rubbing Hawke's sore spot with her palm. She then gave it a playful slap. "Don't break out the sonnets and flowers yet, sweet thing."

"You're impossible," sighed Hawke.

"For you, my sweet, I am very, _very _possible," murmured Isabela.

"Isabela, I think today deserves an eight out of ten," Hawke whispered as she nuzzled the pirate's neck.

"Well, at least I'm making progress," said Isabela rhetorically, as she lifted the Champion's chin with her finger and leaned in. "Let's see if I can make it a nine..."

_fin._

BONUS:

"Thanks again for the drinks, Hawke" waved Isabela, as she watched Hawke leave the Hanged Man for the night. As the door closed, she rose. "Is she gone?" she asked, placing one trembling hand on the table to steady herself.

"Whoa there, Rivaini. Are you feeling alright? You look like somebody just stuffed you into a sack full of nugs and beat you with a bottle of extra sauce." She felt a steadying hand on her elbow.

"Is she gone?" she asked again, this time a bit more forcefully.

"Yeah. She's gone."

Isabela's shoulders slumped. "Thank you, Varric. I think I'm just... tired."

"Let me give you a hand. I can't have my best drinking buddy pass out and die here. Hawke would kill me if that happened," he laughed. With one of her arms draped around his shoulders, Varric half-carried with her to her room. Pushing the door open, he gently lay her down on her pallet. He thought for a moment, and slid one of her curved daggers under her pillow within easy reach. She nodded and smiled at him.

"Varric," mumbled Isabela as she rolled onto her back.

"Yeah, Rivaini?"

"That woman is totally _insatiable_," murmured Isabela, as Varric covered her in a blanket.

* * *

><p>Hawke could barely move as she finally dragged her feet across her foyer. She kicked off her boots and could barely remain standing by the time she reached her bed. She opened her arms and relaxed, letting gravity take care of the rest and falling onto the bed face-first. She felt something wet and soft on her left hand. She blinked and tried to focus. Barkspawn, her faithful mabari hound, gave a quizzical whine.<p>

"Oh, it's just you," she mumbled. Barkspawn gave a happy bark. Hawke tried to raise her hand to pet the dog, but found the exercise to be too strenuous. She settled for wiggling her fingers, hoping the canine would figure out what they could be used for. Her fingers soon found themselves scratching Barkspawn's ears. She sighed.

"At least you're energetic. That woman is going to be the death of me." The dog gave a questioning whine.

"She's insatiable," murmured Hawke as she her eyelids lowered.

_Author's Note: It's been a while. The muse continues to inspire, so I continue to write. This story started off as something smaller, then snowballed as it went. Four revisions and a couple of plot rewrites later, here we are. I had debated breaking this up into smaller chunks, since each 'episode' in Marathon can mostly stand on its own. However, I wanted it to feel longer and the beginning and end worked better as part of a coherent whole if you read them in one sitting._

_As part of my call for pre-readers before, I got a few offers in the prior reviews and I sent out PMs to the offering readers. Unfortunately, nobody responded to those PMs. I blame the site for that. If you're still interested in pre-reading for me and willing to give good constructive criticism (pacing, flow, grammar, word choice, characterization, etc.), please let me know via e-mail: hoorayforicecream(at)yahoo(dot)com. I promise I won't bite._

_Hopefully the next installment in this series will be along a bit faster, but no guarantees. Until then, may your sails be full of wind, and your tankards be full of the good stuff. Cheers._


	5. Crossed

Crossed

"Messere, the Guard Captain is here to see you," announced Bodahn.

"Please show her in," nodded the Champion from her perch on the small, wooden footstool.

"Mistress! The more you squirm, the longer it will take!" chided Orana as she continued fitting Hawke with the royal blue satin gown. "I've taken in the chest and hips, but the length of the hem is still wrong."

She paused for a moment to appraise her work so far. "Mistress, you absolutely must let me adjust the sleeves as well!" she added.

"The chest and hips? Why did you have to do that?" wondered Hawke aloud. "I could have sworn this dress was tailored to fit me when I bought it."

"I think Mistress Isabela borrowed this one, Mistress," offered Orana helpfully.

"Must I go to this party?" sighed Hawke.

"Duty calls, Champion," answered Aveline with a smile from the doorway. Hawke tried to turn and wave, but a gentle swat from Orana stopped her movement. Sighing, Hawke resumed her awkward stance on the footstool with her legs straight and arms out.

"So, what can the Champion of Kirkwall do for you today, Guard Captain Aveline?" asked Hawke in as official a voice as she could muster.

"I have a job for you. You'll like this one. Do you remember our old friend Magistrate Vanard?"

"The father of that man that killed young women?"

"The same. I thought you might enjoy this. It seems we have enough evidence of corruption to arrest his excellency." Aveline held up an official-looking document, affixed with the seal of the Viscount's office.

"Seneschal Bran has given permission to arrest him for embezzling government funds." she continued. "It seems that the nobles are fine with looking the other way unless their own coin is involved. Then it becomes an important matter."

"My, my... The day is beginning to look up," agreed Hawke, unconsciously shifting on her footstool. "Ow!" She yelped.

"I'm sorry, Mistress. Please stop squirming." apologized Orana, as she continued with her needle and thread.

* * *

><p>It was night when Aveline returned to rendezvous at Hawke's estate. Hawke had finished her fitting ordeal, and returned to her standard battle attire. She felt much more comfortable in combat gear than the finery of the Champion at noble parties, but duties were duties after all. The incessant wheedling for favor at such festivities grated on her nerves. It often seemed that she wasn't even needed, Ser So-and-So or Lady Nose-in-Air often simply wanted to be able to brag to his or her acquaintances that they had been speaking with the Champion just last week, and she absolutely agreed with whatever inane suggestion they had come up with. The cajoling to try to get Hawke to help pass judgment on noble conflicts was even more aggravating. Ser Such-and-Such's servant was caught stealing, or misbehaving, or seducing the serving girl of Serah Bothersome, and the two houses would feud and hope for the Champion to intervene on their behalf.<p>

The worst parts were the constant attempts at matchmaking. Lord Nosy would declare how perfect his nephew Crosseyed the Unwitting would be for the young Champion and how much their tastes matched perfectly, while Lady Busybody would say that her son Snoring the Monotonous would be a much more suitable partner, hoping for a fruitful and prosperous union between their esteemed familes. Hawke's only solace at these parties was enjoying the uncomfortable looks and attempts to ignore any sort of mention regarding goings on between Hawke and a certain pirate captain. Whenever the subject of Isabela was brought up, throats were cleared, eyes would glance away, feet would shift, and people would change the subject. Hawke's natural recourse was to bring up Isabela as often as possible.

None of that mattered this night. The sun had long set, and the cool evening air tickled Hawke's skin. She and Aveline strode purposefully through the night; the only sounds that echoed through the streets of Hightown were their footfalls and the gentle chirping of crickets. Upon arriving at the Magistrate's estate, Aveline pounded on the door with one heavy, gauntleted hand.

"Open this door. By the order of the office of the Viscount, we are here to see Magistrate Vanard," shouted Aveline. There was no response.

"Did you hear that?" asked Hawke.

"Hear what? I don't hear anything," replied Aveline, a bit confused. She heard nothing but crickets.

"That. It sounded like someone inside calling for help," continued Hawke. "Surely the Guard Captain and specially-deputized-for-an-evening Champion could not stand idly by while a poor individual inside of Magistrate Vanard's estate was calling for help."

Aveline broke into a grin. "Surely not, Deputy Guardsman Hawke. We must help this poor individual with all haste." She lifted one greaved foot and kicked the door in. The pair drew their weapons and entered the silent manor. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary, save for the emptiness of the mansion. The two proceeded inside, stepping carefully and moving in tandem. The house was dimly illuminated by interspersed hanging lanterns, but still as the grave. One room seemed to be more brightly lit than the others. Hawke and Aveline approached it cautiously.

Hawke carefully and silently entered the room. She was completely taken aback by the sight that greeted her. Magistrate Vanard sat at his desk with a rather wicked-looking dagger protruding from his back. Fresh blood had pooled beneath his body, and his lifeless eyes stared glassily into nothingness. It wasn't Vanard's corpse that shocked the Champion, however. It was the chiseled elven man standing over the body with his hands raised in a placating gesture and a broad grin on his face.

Zevran Arainai gave his most winning smile and said "Please, do not panic. I can explain."

Aveline did not lower her blade. Hawke motioned for Zevran to continue. His smile never wavered.

"As merciful as you are beautiful, Champion. Of course I will explain myself." he smiled, without a hint of guile in his voice. "After our last encounter, I found myself wanting... monetarily. I had not realized it, but the increased templar activity has placed a bit of a burden on most honest seafaring travelers. I lacked the coin for passage to Antiva, you see." He paused for effect, glancing at both Hawke and Aveline before continuing.

"Go on," grated Aveline.

"As they say, do what you know. And if I may be so bold," he said with a wicked wiggle of his eyebrows, "I am the best assassin this side of the Free Marches. So I began looking for work."

"You assassinated people in Kirkwall?" asked Hawke.

"Perceptive, beautiful and powerful. Three qualities I do love in a woman!" laughed Zevran.

Aveline looked grim. "Do you mean to tell me that the rash of noble deaths lately was because of you?" she demanded.

"Perhaps it might be so. Who are the ones being killed? I can tell you if it was me or not," Zevran smiled.

"Lady Harmon, found dead in her bathtub," began Aveline.

"Yes, that was my work. You probably thought she died because she slipped, no? I tell you, that is one of my better techniques. Ice in a bathtub is always overlooked," chuckled Zevran. "But do not worry, she was selling her elvish servants into slavery. It seems Lord Harmon has been spending a bit too much time at the Blooming Rose, and has squandered much of their fortune. It was Lord Harmon's creditors who hired me."

"Lord Greenwich, killed in a hunting accident," continued Aveline.

"Also me. I find it amusing that the hunters never think to check their own weapons for poison. It is quite easy to rub down a spear shaft with a small concoction. It is even easier to pretend to be the valet bringing the weapons to the hunters. As long as the heart rate does not rise, the poison has no effect. A charming substance, no?"

Aveline narrowed her eyes.

"Do not worry. Lord Greenwich liked to beat his wife. She showed me the markings he gave her when she hired me. I made sure that she felt some measure of comfort when I completed the assignment."

Aveline did not look happy, but she did nod. She had heard of the proclivities of the brutish Lord Greenwich, but there was nothing the guardsmen could do without proof. She thought on it for a moment.

"And Magistrate Vanard?" asked Aveline, finally.

"Oh, you should already know his wonderful history. Stealing money from his office, taking bribes from the criminals entering the courts, and of course his little stint before protecting his child-murdering son. Yes, the families of his victims put together a package for him, and I was simply the messenger," nodded Zevran.

"I can't believe it," mused Hawke. "This is as ridiculous as Lady Flora's daughter suddenly becoming spontaneously pregnant."

Zevran threw back his head and laughed. "That may have been me as well. Rosalina is quite a beauty after all," he chuckled.

Hawke sighed. "Well, Aveline? What do you wish to do?" she asked.

"We should arrest him," Aveline replied. "He did just confess to killing all of those people."

"We've killed many people as well, and he did have reason. If you could have, you would have arrested them," countered Hawke.

"Well, what would you have me do, Hawke?" demanded Aveline.

"If I may interject... there is a ship bound for Antiva leaving in four days. I have already secured passage on it. I will leave Kirkwall with my solemn oath not to ply my trade in this city any more. Will that suffice?" offered Zevran helpfully.

"Hmm..." Aveline thought about it, then glanced from the still-smiling Zevran to the curious Hawke. "Very well. I will accept that, on one condition."

Two sets of eyes focused intently on her. "The assassin will be under arrest for the remainder of his time here in Kirkwall. Once these four days are up, he will get on the ship and adhere to his bargain."

"Arrest? You mean to put him in the brig for the rest of his time here?" asked Hawke.

"Not exactly," said Aveline, slyly. "There'd be too many questions. I was thinking something more like... house arrest."

"House arrest?" Hawke and Zevran asked in tandem.

"Yes. House arrest. Deputy. Guardsman. Hawke." Aveline punctuated each word. Hawke looked at Aveline, then Zevran helplessly.

"I am in your care, my dear Champion," declared Zevran with a deep bow.

"Well then, I'll leave you to it. Good luck, Hawke." Aveline waved a gauntleted hand as she left the room.

"Why does this always happen to me?," muttered Hawke to herself.

"Excellent. I am sure that I will be your most _compliant_ prisoner," laughed Zevran.

As they began to leave, Hawke suddenly thought of something.

"Zevran, you knew Isabela when she was younger, didn't you?" she asked.

"Ah, Isabela. My favorite pirate wench. Yes, I met her long ago," he grinned, and she could swear she saw a softening in his already mirthful expression. "What is it you would like to know?"

"Tell me about her when she was young," said the Champion.

"Ah, I have the perfect story to begin with," he began, as he took her arm. "When first we met, I had only been a member of the Crows for a year or two..."

* * *

><p>Laughter rang through the kitchen. Light hearted female giggles provided a counterpoint to the rich tenors of male chuckles and reverberated through the room like tiny echoes. The smell of fresh pastry mingled with alcohol.<p>

"Oh she most certainly did _not_!" giggled Hawke.

"She most certainly did! She was so proud of that hat that she wouldn't remove it for an entire week!" laughed Zevran.

"But wouldn't the insects, scavenger birds and rats go after it?"

"Of course! The only way we could get her to remove the hat was when she found out it had sprouted more feathers and legs than it began with!"

Hawke collapsed into peals of laughter. Zevran took a long pull at his mug, then grinned at the Champion.

"So... have you considered my... offer?" asked Zevran, enticingly.

Hawke gently rubbed her neck. "I'm not sure I've had enough of this Antivan brandy yet to answer." she replied lazily.

"Well then, we had better pour some more of the brandy," purred Zevran as he lifted the bottle again.

* * *

><p>Isabela smiled as she pried her window open with her favorite knife. It was 'her' window, despite it being part of the Hawke estate. Her smile grew as she climbed into the house, wondering what sort of things she'd do to Hawke that night. Or perhaps Hawke would be the one doing things to her. With luck, it would be both. She vaulted in through the window, taking care not to knock over the flower vase she knew was there. Quietly, she closed the window behind her and crept down the dark hallway.<p>

As her eyes adjusted to the low light, she approached Hawke's bedroom. Biting her lower lip in anticipation, she reached a hand toward the door's handle.

"Oh, Zevran..." she heard through the door. Her hand froze.

"Yes, my Champion?" came a familiar voice. Could it really be him? What was he doing here?

"A bit lower... yes, right there... Oooh, yes" came Hawke's voice again. Moaning. That was definitely moaning.

Isabela thought for a moment to herself. If Zevran was here, and they were doing what she thought they were doing, she could simply walk in and join them. It wouldn't have been the first time she had joined a coupling midway. She might have been a bit irritated that they had not invited her immediately, but such things tended to be spontaneous affairs. If anything, she could just rib Hawke about snacking without her later on. Her hand started moving toward the handle again.

"Isabela was never _this_ good at it..." moaned Hawke. Isabela's hand froze again.

"Do you like that?" purred Zevran's voice.

"She's always been so... fast. But you're much more than that... mmm..." Hawke lazily breathed out.

"I take pride in what I do. I am very good at killing people. But I am also very good at this," laughed Zevran. "Prepare yourself for it."

"It's so hot... and hard..." gasped Hawke, suddenly.

"Yes, that's all part of the proper technique. Let me move it a little lower; I think that's where you will feel it most."

"This is incredible... You can't tell her I said that. It would crush her," said Hawke, before muffling another moan. Isabela felt an icy chill run down her spine. She mechanically withdrew her nerveless hand from the doorknob. Bile rose up in her belly, filling her with a thick, viscous, nauseating feeling, like she had just eaten some bad clams.

"Is something the matter, Zevran?" came Hawke's voice from inside the bedroom. The door cracked open, but Isabela had already vanished.

* * *

><p>Hawke lay on her belly, stripped naked to her waist. She hugged her favorite pillow to her chest, as Zevran knelt beside her on the bed and expertly kneaded her back with his fingertips. Every few minutes, he would dab some kind of oil onto his hands to rub into her skin, making it feel warmer and more comfortable beneath his touch. Tension evaporated from her muscles like steam.<p>

"Oh, Zevran..." she moaned as he found a particularly tense knot.

"Yes, my Champion?" he asked gently.

"A bit lower... " she instructed. He moved down her back, pressing, gently rocking his fingetrips back and forth, relaxing the muscles there with gentle, yet insistent pressure.

"Yes, right there... Oooh, yes," encouraged Hawke. "Isabela was never _this_ good at it..." she moaned.

"Do you like that?" Zevran asked, gently balling his fists and tapping some more problematic areas.

"She's always been so... fast. But you're much more than that... mmm..." Hawke felt the relaxation flooding in to replace the missing tension.

"I take pride in what I do. I am very good at killing people. But I am also very good at this," laughed Zevran. He stopped his ministrations and walked over to the fireplace, where a small round, black stone was warming in a pot of water. After tugging on a pair of leather gloves, he picked the heated basalt rock up and put one steadying hand on Hawke's back so she'd stop moving.

"Prepare yourself for it." he warned. He gently placed the hot stone on the center of her back.

"It's so hot... " gasped Hawke, as the rock touched her back. She raised an eyebrow and looked at Zevran quizzically, trying to deduce what he had just put on her back. "And... hard?"

"Yes, that's all part of the proper technique. Let me move it a little lower, I think that's where you will feel it most." He picked the stone up, then placed it at the small of her back.

"This is incredible... " Hawke moaned. She thought for a moment, comparing experiences. Isabela had always been so proud of her sensual massages, and they had been wonderful. Especially when they often pleasantly resulted in sex. Still, Zevran's massage was on a whole different level altogether.

"You can't tell her I said that. It would crush her," said Hawke, feeling guilty.

Zevran's ears perked up. He made sure the stone was on the right spot, then stood and silently padded over to the door.

"Is something the matter, Zevran?" asked Hawke. Zevran opened the door, but there was nothing on the other side. He glanced around, but saw nothing out of the ordinary.

"Perhaps I am only hearing things. Come, let us finish."

* * *

><p>The bottom of a cup ranked highly on Isabela's list of depressing sights. She stared down at it balefully, as if willing it to disappear. She lifted her bottle and refilled the cup, smiling a bit after she had successfully drowned the disheartening image. She tilted it back and let the liquid flow into her mouth and down her throat, pleasantly tingling and lightly burning as she swallowed. The contents of the bottle of Antivan brandy she had liberated from Hawke's kitchen on her way out tasted divine, but the flavor did nothing to placate the storm of confusing feelings swirling in her chest. She finished the cup, and looked back down once again at the depressing sight before her. At least now she felt the pleasantly spinning sensation that came with enough good liquor. Or bad liquor. Or enough liquor in general.<p>

"Well if it isn't Isabela, drinkin' all alone. How about sharing some o' that nosh wit' us? We could share a bit more afterwards, if you catch me drift," came a gravely male voice from beside her. She didn't bother to look up from her cup, instead continuing to stare at it.

"Move along, you'll find no giggles from me tonight," she grumbled aloud to the cup.

"Come now, don't be like 'at. We had our fun a few years back, eh? We was thinkin' we could just do a bit o' a tumble for old time's sake," the voice insisted.

"I said no. If your weapon is as dull as your ears, it's no wonder I don't remember you," Isabela sneered at her cup.

"Whore, I've half a mind to teach you some respect, then take what I wants from ye!" roared the man.

"You've half a mind, period. Perhaps you're only half a man, as well." she quipped. She smiled inwardly. She had been looking for a pleasant distraction, and one had just found her. She braced for it. A large hand came down and wrapped itself around her right wrist. The man roughly hauled her to her feet by her wrist. He was a huge man, nearly as tall as a Qunari, with a shaven head, a long, scraggly beard, and a cruel-looking scar that ran from his right temple down to his jawline. Large, corded muscles rippled under his leather jerkin, and his hands looked like they were easily twice hers in size. He snarled for a moment before she whipped her left hand out and broke the bottle of brandy directly on his scar. He howled in pain as jagged bits of glass flew everywhere, several digging into the flesh of his face.

Isabela briefly debated continuing to use the broken bottle, but decided against fatalities tonight. She really wanted to release some tension, and since Hawke wasn't available to do so constructively, she had decided on the next best thing. She tossed the broken bottle aside and kicked the back of the man's left knee. He grunted in pain and dropped to his knees, releasing her arm and bringing his two hands to his injured face.

"Oh, I remember you now," scoffed Isabela. "We crossed swords once, and your weapon just _wilted_ after the first touch," she taunted.

"You bitch!" he spat, trying to claw the shards of glass from his eyes. "Get her!" he roared. Several men, also wearing similar leather jerkins, stepped forward with murder in their eyes. She grinned and kicked the hapless scarred man in the jaw, sending him sprawling into another table full of Ferelden miners. Some of them shouted curses as he bowled them over.

"Well, at least the fight's already gone on longer than the sex did," she said dryly. She shifted into a fighting stance and cracked her knuckles. "Now, who's next?"

* * *

><p>The ensuing brawl had grown out of control in an instant, pulling in some of Hawke's Ferelden miners, a few merchants and their bodyguards, and even some of the serving girls. Norah had cracked more than a few heads with her serving tray, and that Edwina woman was a hellion like no other. When the guardsmen finally arrived, it had taken Aveline, Donnic and Brennan to pull Edwina off of one of the poor miners. For added measure, she had even managed to rip out a good chunk of the poor blighter's beard when they finally managed to separate the two. Isabela had not stayed much longer to enjoy the fruits of her labor. She had liberated a full wineskin before making her exit during the fracas, and had spent the rest of the night on her ship in a state of inebriation. At first, things felt wonderful, but as the adrenaline wore off, the dark, gripping feeling kept returning. She'd chase it away each time with another pull from the wineskin, but when her thoughts inevitably fell to Hawke, the feeling would return. It was unfamiliar and unpleasant, but she did not grasp the cause. She eventually fell into a fitful sleep, plagued by dreams of running towards Hawke, but never quite reaching her.<p>

* * *

><p>The sun was already high overhead by the time Isabela arrived in Hightown the next morning. She walked confidently, finding the alley where she was to meet up with her "partner". Gone was her normal bandana and gold jewelry. Instead, she wore a dress of deep red silk, adorned with gold embroidery and white lace. The bodice was cut low, revealing ample portions of her glorious bosom, and the petticoats added a feeling of summer. Elbow-length white velvet gloves delicately hugged her hands, and a white lace shawl and matching white leather handbag completed the outfit.<p>

As she approached the meeting place just around the corner from the Merchant's Guild, Isabela took a deep breath and forcibly pushed the recurring thoughts of Hawke out of her mind. Thinking about it only caused her restlessness she didn't need, and today she had another diversion planned. She focused her attention on the day's activities, and tried to sweep the niggling concerns and anxieties from her mind. She put a smile on her face, and went to meet her partner.

"I was beginning to think you wouldn't show, Rivaini. That was some fight last night," greeted the dwarf. Varric was dressed more shabbily than normal. He wore a dusty brown jerkin and had buttoned it up, covering his normally bare chest. His shoes were shabby, and he completed the look with a mousy hat that looked like a mabari had been chewing on it. Knowing Varric, he had probably dipped it in bacon fat and handed it to Barkspawn for an afternoon.

"You don't think I'm going soft, do you? I've got to keep my edge."

"By swindling Hightown nobles? If they were any duller, they'd be comatose." chuckled Varric.

"How do I look?" she asked, posing coquettishly.

He looked her over, and gave an approving nod. "I always did like the red one. What are we selling today?"

Isabela held up a pair of bejeweled golden earrings, adorned with intricate etchings. "Do these look alright to you? They set me back a whole fifteen bits in a Darktown alley," she giggled.

"Excellent. Let's do this." He took the earrings from Isabela, and made his way through the marketplace.

Isabela waited for a few minutes, and entered the marketplace from a different direction. She browsed the market daintily, fully immersed in her role as a faux noblewoman. As she glided from stall to stall, she came upon a tailor's shop. Inside, a very sad shabby-looking dwarf was engaged with the shopkeeper in conversation. Isabela made a show of looking at the various materials in a nearby stall while occasionally taking surreptitious glances through the shop's window. After a few minutes, the sad looking dwarf left the shop and gave a quick nod in her direction. After waiting a few moments, she gracefully entered the boutique. She mentally gauged her opponent. The apprentice tailor behind the counter was barely a man, and had been staring at her since she had come in. She smiled to herself. Isabela looked from item to item on display, until she saw the pair of earrings on the counter. Letting out a gasp of delight, she hurried over, making sure to give the clerk an extra eyeful of bounce.

"Messere, zeez earrings are zo perfect!" she exclaimed in her best Orlesian accent. "I must 'ave zem!"

"I-I'm sorry, Serah. That p-p-poor dwarf fellow left them here as collateral for some white silks."

"Zis cannot be! I must 'ave zem for ze ball tonight!" she exclaimed, clapping her gloved hands. "'Ow much coin would you accept for zem?" She placed both hands on her hips, and thrust her chest forward. Like moths to a flame, his eyes never rose above her collarbone.

"I will offer feefteen gold sovereigns!" she continued.

"But... but..." he stammered.

She stamped one foot, then said "Serty sovereigns!"

"I... I..." he stammered. He looked like he was about to burst.

"Serty sovereigns will do, no? I shall find my 'usband and return shortly wees ze coin. I will leave zem 'ere until I return," she declared grandly. The boy could only nod numbly in agreement.

"Sank you, messere! You 'ave made me ze 'appiest comptesse in all of Kirkwall!" she bubbled, touching his cheek lightly with her fingers. He blushed.

"Jaques! Jaques, where are you?" she called as she left the shop. Right on cue, the shabby looking dwarf entered scant moments after she'd left. She walked around the corner, then clandestinely stole a few glances back at the shop. The clerk inside was begging the dwarf for something. The dwarf first looked angry, then his expression changed to sad and remorseful, until the clerk pointed at the silks and then began counting out gold sovereigns. The dwarf noticeably sighed and shook the happy clerk's hand. Isabela grinned and made her way back to the alleyway.

* * *

><p>"So how much did we get?" Isabela asked.<p>

"Milady. One bolt of fine white Orlesian silk cloth, and ten gold sovereigns." bowed Varric as he produced the results of their caper.

"Oh, you could have squeezed him for twelve," grinned Isabela.

"I didn't think that it would have been prudent to push for more. That poor kid's going to get his hide tanned by his master," chuckled Varric.

"If he falls for something this simple, he deserves it," laughed Isabela. "Flash a pair of tits in a tight dress and that boy would be willing to buy the Queen of Antiva".

"Does Hawke know you've been borrowing her dresses for this?" laughed Varric.

"I've left notes," said Isabela defensively. "Hawke knows I've been borrowing them. " She left out the part where Hawke would usually pout until Isabela promised to wear the dresses for her. Remembering Hawke once again gave her that unsettling feeling in her belly.

"How is Hawke, anyway? You two seem awfully close these days."

"You sound a bit jealous, Varric. If you wanted to join us, all you had to do was ask," teased the pirate.

"You know that my heart belongs to Bianca, Rivaini. Even a woman of your considerable charms could never take her place."

"Who said anything about your heart? I was thinking about your trousers," she laughed.

"Those belong to Bianca too, Rivaini," Varric added, as he handed her a small stack of gold coins.

"Varric... what would you ever do if you thought somebody else had been shooting Bianca?" she asked.

"Well, I'd probably have words with this person. Maybe more than words," he growled, placing one hand protectively on the crossbow.

"What if she chose to be with that other archer?" asked Isabela softly.

"Rivaini, she's a crossbow," Varric said dryly. His expression softened. "If she ever chose to be with another archer, I'd try to show her what she's missing. I could probably go fight that other archer. I'd probably even win. But if Bianca really chose him, then she'd just be heartbroken if I did it, and neither of us wants that."

He took a deep breath and sighed. "But I love Bianca, so I trust her not to stray." He patted her handle gently. "Here, take the silk. You should give it to Hawke as a thank you for needing to alter all of those dresses back," suggested Varric.

* * *

><p>A bit later, Isabela returned to the Hawke estate dressed in her usual attire. She knocked at the front door, expecting Bodahn to answer. Instead, Sandal opened the large oak door, and waved at her.<p>

"Enchantment?" he asked.

"I'm here to see Hawke," she announced.

"Enchantment!" agreed Sandal, and he pointed inside the house. Thanking him, she brushed by with the bolt of silk cloth and entered the Hawke mansion. After depositing the silk with Orana, Isabela looked for Hawke. As she neared the kitchen, she heard the Champion's voice.

"... Do you think the blue variation will suffice?" Hawke asked.

"It would seem like a good idea, yes." came a male response. It sounded like Zevran. Isabela's stomach suddenly knotted itself. Why was he still here?

"And the musicians?" she pressed.

"All is taken care of, my Champion. I have never met a woman with such exquisite planning skills. They truly rival your beauty and deadliness in battle."

"Well, I'm glad you think so. I hope this works out." Hawke sounded worried.

"The preparations are complete, and the pieces have been set in motion. It is time to rest before the campaign," laughed Zevran.

Biting back her unease, Isabela confidently entered the kitchen. As she entered, she quickly surveyed the situation. Hawke had two hands on the counter, and was staring intently at a piece of parchment before her. With one hand on her shoulder, the chiseled elf leaned against her in a show of familiarity. The assassin was first to notice.

"Isabela, how wonderful to see you again!" he grinned.

Hawke looked at her guiltily, and quickly rolled up the parchment. The motion was not lost on Isabela. Hawke put on a smile, but Isabela had seen that particular smile enough times to know she was hiding something.

"You too, Zev. I thought you had gone back to Antiva," replied Isabela blandly. "What brings you back to Kirkwall?"

"Ah... I am here at the behest of the lovely Champion, partaking of her fine hospitality. I shall be returning to Antiva in two days, on the morning tide." He smiled at her.

"Are we going to... catch up?" Isabela asked Zevran, but her eyes were on Hawke.

"Alas, I have been encouraged to stay within the confines of the Champion's estate by the local law enforcement. A pity, I would love to see the sights of fair Kirkwall," lamented Zevran.

"What about you, Hawke? Do you think we might find some amusements between us?" she asked.

"I am... otherwise occupied this afternoon," Hawke answered uncomfortably. Isabela frowned.

"Perhaps I might catch you tonight at the Hanged Man? Varric wanted to gather players for a round of Wicked Grace," offered the Champion.

"You'd better, or I might get upset," the pirate said, giving a mocking smile.

Hawke looked up at Isabela with those bright eyes of hers. Isabela suddenly felt a stab of discomfort. "Isabela, about those dresses you've been borrowing..." the Champion began.

Isabela beat a hasty retreat. "Oh, is it that time already? I need a stiff one. And a drink!" she quipped as she left the kitchen. She sighed, silently berating herself for running away. Waving goodbye to Sandal and Orana, she left the Hawke estate with Varric's advice echoing in her head.

* * *

><p>Hawke was examining the list of preparations for the third time. She ticked down the list of Antivan delicacies and liquors, making small markings next to the ones she had secured.<p>

"Zevran, thank you for your assistance. Your knowledge of Antiva has been very helpful," she said gratefully.

"It is no trouble at all, my dear Champion. I am happy to assist with such a humble request. I think she will be most pleased with the results," he smiled, clapping her on the shoulder gently with one manicured hand.

"I've never been to Antiva. I can hardly imagine what it is like there." said Hawke, a bit wistfully.

"Antiva is like nowhere else on Thedas," mused Zevran. "The men are constantly competing to be the most powerful, and the women competing to be the most beautiful. It is a wondrous place, where anything can be had for the right price. I am sure one as exquisite as you would do quite well there."

"I've ordered the ingredients, and the liqueurs. What about the Llomeryn whiskey? Do you think the blue variation will suffice?" she asked, tapping the parchment with her quill.

"It would seem like a good idea, yes," he nodded.

"And the musicians?" she continued, her brow furrowing as she continued to concentrate on the list of preparations.

"All is taken care of, my Champion. I have never met a woman with such exquisite planning skills. They truly rival your beauty and deadliness in battle."

"Well, I'm glad you think so. I hope this works out," Hawke sighed. Not for the first time that day, she thought about how many more details she needed to square away.

"The preparations are complete, and the pieces have been set in motion. It is time to rest before the campaign," laughed Zevran.

Hawke nodded absently while still studying the list.

"Isabela, how wonderful to see you again!" called Zevran. Hawke's face snapped to a raised position. She rolled the parchment up as quickly as she could, hoping that Isabela hadn't seen what was written on it. Hawke smiled sheepishly.

"You too, Zev. I thought you had gone back to Antiva," cheerfully replied Isabela. "What brings you back to Kirkwall?"

"Ah... I am here at the behest of the lovely Champion, partaking of her fine hospitality. I shall be returning to Antiva in two days, on the morning tide," explained Zevran.

"Are we going to... catch up?" Isabela asked Zevran, but Hawke saw Isabela's glorious amber eyes focused squarely on hers. Hawke held her breath, hoping that Isabela didn't suspect anything.

"Alas, I have been encouraged to stay within the confines of the Champion's estate by the local law enforcement. A pity, I would love to see the sights of fair Kirkwall," lamented Zevran.

"What about you, Hawke? Do you think we might find some... amusements between us?" murmured the pirate. Hawke was sorely tempted, but she mustered her determination and slowly let her breath out.

"I am... otherwise occupied this afternoon," Hawke answered, shifting in her seat. She squeezed the parchment a bit, nervously. Isabela frowned.

Hawke tried to deflect that sharp gaze. "Perhaps I might catch you tonight at the Hanged Man? Varric wanted to gather players for a round of Wicked Grace," she offered desperately.

"You'd better, or I might get upset," responded Isabela, mollified.

Hawke knew that any more questions would ruin the surprise. She scrambled for a new topic. "Isabela, about those dresses you've been borrowing..." she offered.

"Oh, is it that time already? I need a stiff one. And a drink!" Isabela was gone before Hawke could finish her thought.

"Do you think she suspects?" asked Hawke after a moment. Zevran raised an eyebrow.

"I do not think she knows that you are throwing her a party," he said carefully. "But she wouldn't be Isabela if she was not up to something," he added.

"Alright. Let's get this last bit over with," nodded Hawke, as she circled the last item on her list.

"As you wish, my Champion," agreed Zevran, offering her his arm.

* * *

><p>Isabela was halfway finished with the bottle of whiskey when they began to arrive. The pleasant spinning sensation had settled in, and she only needed to take occasional sips to maintain it. Merrill was the first in. She entered the bar with an easy gait and a guileless smile on her face. She waved at Corff, then found a table and sat down. Isabela tilted the remaining contents of her cup into her mouth, and she swallowed, savoring the heat working its way down her throat. Taking both glass and bottle with her, she sauntered over to the elf girl.<p>

Merrill placed her order with Norah, and waved happily at Isabela. Merrill was always so sweet. Isabela made her way through the patrons, occasionally slapping a groping hand away, and sat down next to the slim mage.

"Isabela, how wonderful to see you! Have you been well?" the elf began. Isabela gave Merrill's hand a light squeeze, then poured herself another jigger of the whiskey.

"I hope we can begin soon. Did I tell you about the channeling ointment I used this week? I managed to get some Ambrosia seeds from Hawke last week! They've been invaluable! The channeling ointment didn't quite work, but it's still much better than before. When it exploded, it made my ears ring for three days and I smelled like burned potato, but I've adjusted the formula and I'm sure it will work this week!" she bubbled happily.

"It sounds like you've been busy, Daisy," announced Varric, as he pulled a chair aside. "But enough talk about potatoes, you'll make me hungry. Let's play some cards."

Varric sat down and shuffled the small, round cards. After cutting the deck, he dealt them out, three cards apiece. Isabela lifted her hand and glanced at Varric, trying to gauge initial reactions. Merrill, cute as she was, had a face like an open book. Varric met her gaze, and she saw his left ear twitch. She faked a smile.

The first round of betting went quickly. Isabela did not raise, and held the cards closely. Merrill dropped in the minimal amount of copper coin. Varric raised on his turn, and the women had to match. He called for discards.

Merrill's brow had furrowed as she concentrated on her cards. She gently tapped her chin with her index finger, then took one card and placed it face down. "I'll take one," she started. Varric dealt her a card.

Isabela shifted in her seat, eyes still on her cards, and slowly pulled the hand she had left on the table toward her body. Below the table, the subtle movement had pushed the hidden card up her hip, where she would be able to retrieve it in a moment.

"How many, Rivaini?" asked Varric.

She made a show of tossing one of her cards onto the table, then sighing. As she did, she dropped her hands to her sides. Varric's eyes narrowed.

"One please," she said, emphasizing boredom. Varric dealt her a single. She began to reach for the card on the table, angling her rear hand down to grab her hidden card. Her hand was down, about to grasp the card when Varric narrowed his eyes.

"Rivaini, you wouldn't be thinking of cheating, would you?" he smirked. Merrill's eyes widened in surprise, as she stared at Isabela.

"Of course not, Varric. I was just scratching an itch," laughed Isabela, quickly dropping her spare card back behind her sash.

"Don't you have Hawke for that?" smirked Varric.

Merrill looked confused. "Why would she want to do that, Varric? Wouldn't that be awfully inconvenient? It always takes a bit to find where an itch is, and Hawke wouldn't be able to feel it," she wondered aloud. "Wouldn't she just end up scratching all over the place?"

Her eyes widened again. "Oh! That's what you meant!" she exclaimed. Both Varric and Isabela laughed. Isabela looked at her hand, weighing her options. A weapon card would mean she could make an Iron Gate.

Varric kept his hand, and then flipped two cards onto the table, a rider and a spear. Isabela grinned to herself, the cards were being kind to her today.

"Alright, Daisy. What have you got?" called Varric. Merrill looked at her cards and the two on the table and laid them out.

"I have a half armory," she announced, placing down a sword and a shield to play off of the spear. Her remaining ogre card did her no favors.

"Iron Gate," declared Isabela, showing the portcullis, shield, and a knight in her hand.

"Not bad, Rivaini," nodded Varric, before he showed his own cards. Two spears and a rider. In addition to the single rider and spear in the pool, that made for...

"A full charge. Thank you for playing, ladies, but I think that takes it."

"Is it too late to join the game?" called Fenris. He unbuckled his blade from his back and leaned it against the table as he looked for a chair.

"Of course it's not too late. We just finished a hand," invited Merrill. "Would you like me to call Norah over to get you a drink?"

"No," grunted Fenris. Noting Merrill's crestfallen face, he quietly added "Thank you."

After Fenris sat down between Varric and Isabela, they played a second hand with Varric taking it once again with an Iron Gate this time. Varric smiled at the growing pile of coin.

"How are your reading lessons coming along, Fenris?" asked Merrill.

"They come. You needn't concern yourself with my schooling." grumped Fenris, staring at his cards. Isabela took advantage of the distraction to nab the castle card on her hip, swapping out the crown.

"Isn't Hawke teaching you?" pressed Merrill. "That must be wonderful, I always wished Hawke could teach me something. She tried to teach me to cook once, but I ended up making such a mess that Bodahn actually cried. I should apologize to him for that," she mused.

"I think he's already forgiven you," said Hawke's voice wearily. The four at the table looked up, and with a sigh, Hawke sat down on a chair she'd pulled up between Merrill and Isabela. "Deal me in."

Isabela felt her body growing warm, an involuntarily reaction to Hawke's presence. It had gotten used to regular doses of pleasurable contact, and the proximity to Hawke's body told it that release would be imminent. As soon as her imagination drifted to wanton acts of sexual release, her mind subconsciously injected a phantom figure into her fantasy that shoved her aside and obscured Hawke from her. Shaking her head, she slammed back another shot of whiskey and her fantasy subsided, leaving her with only a warm flush and sense of smoldering desire, deep in her belly.

Varric dealt the next hand, and each player concentrated on their cards. Isabela had taken stock early, and knew she was going to be out this hand. The cards were just bad. With a wicked little smile, she crossed her legs and scooted a little closer to Hawke. When Varric called for discards, she extended her foot and began sliding the toe of her boot up and down Hawke's calf. Hawke's cheeks colored slightly, but she continued to focus on her cards and gave no other outward sign of what was going on.

Varric dealt the last two cards to the table. Isabela made a moue and dropped her cards to the table. "Fold," she said simply, folding her hands in her lap. Varric nodded. After a few moments, during the next round of betting, she snuck her right hand over and let it rest lightly on Hawke's thigh. Hawke's back stiffened noticeably. As Isabela started to gently squeeze and massage, she giggled to herself.

"Wicked Grace," called Hawke, showing her cards. Fenris silently put his cards on the table face down, and pushed them toward Varric.

"I can't beat that, Hawke. Guess you get this hand."

"She does indeed," quipped Isabela, giving Hawke a squeeze. Hawke colored again, then pulled in her coin.

"I think I am finished with cards for tonight," announced Isabela, as Varric began shuffling again.

"Quitting while you're behind, Rivaini?" taunted Varric.

"I have my eyes on other prizes tonight," she responded with a grin. She stood, emptied her glass, and glanced at Hawke.

"I'd like to keep playing," said Hawke, quietly. Four pairs of eyes snapped to attention.

"What?" demanded Isabela.

"I said I'd like to keep playing," she repeated.

Isabela felt a sudden pressure inside her chest. The pleasant spinning sensation of the room suddenly gave her a bit of a nauseous feeling. She coughed.

"Suit yourself. I'll find my giggles elsewhere," the pirate said icily. Isabela turned and headed to the bar, where it seemed a number of men had gathered for some reason or other. Perhaps there was some fun to be had, after all.

* * *

><p>Hawke's body felt like it was on fire. Zevran's instruction had not been gentle. She had not been used to maintaining positions like that for so long, but she had insisted on getting the form right. Her calves ached from standing on the balls of her feet, her thighs were sore from keeping them flexed for hours, and her back would have been in torment had Zevran not given her a stone massage afterwards. Even her sides and shoulders were still in pain. Still, she was late for the card game and she would not forgive herself for not attending after inviting Isabela. She moved quickly but gingerly, favoring her tender feet.<p>

She made her way to Lowtown and quietly entered the Hanged Man. She saw that four others had already begun playing cards, so she quietly moved up and waited for the hand to end. As she approached, she picked up on snippets of the conversation.

"...She tried to teach me to cook once, but I ended up making such a mess that Bodahn actually cried. I should apologize to him for that," chirped Merrill.

"I think he's already forgiven you," groaned Hawke, as she pulled her chair up to the table and sat down heavily between Merrill and Isabela. Isabela gave her a comforting glance. "Deal me in," said Hawke.

Hawke picked up each card as Varric dealt them out. She looked them over carefully. A Divine, a Templar, and a bottle of wine. A very good hand to start with. She threw in a handful of silver during bet calls, then tried to observe the other players. Merrill's expression was as clear as a freshly washed window, and Fenris was looking especially grim, but Varric was playing his cards close to his glorious chest hair. Isabela was looking at her intently, but not glancing at the cards at all. Hawke mentally prepared for an onslaught.

It was not long coming. She felt it on her leg, something was rubbing her calf. Normally she would probably have blushed, or maybe giggled. Possibly even retaliated with her own stroking. Tonight it caused a shiver of pain to rush up her already-crying back. She stiffened. Cards were discarded. Hawke fought to keep her expression neutral.

"Fold," sighed Isabela. Hawke snuck one glance. The pirate had a small smile on her face. As soon as her eyes returned to her cards, Hawke felt Isabela's hands squeezing her thigh. The Champion tried to shut out the discomfort without drawing attention to herself. Varric dealt the final two cards, a mage and an elf. Merrill laid her cards out first. "Iron Gate!" she declared, happily.

Isabela's hand squeezed gently. The squeezing itself wasn't unpleasant, but the soreness the squeezing aggravated was. Hawke laid her cards onto the table. "Wicked Grace," she stated.

Fenris tossed his cards onto the table. He did not look that pleased.

"I can't beat that, Hawke. Guess you get this hand," Varric nodded.

"She does indeed," piped up Isabela, punctuated by another squeeze. Hawke tried to look nonchalant as she gathered the coin she had won.

"I think I am finished with cards for tonight," said Isabela. She had removed her hand from Hawke's thigh. Hawke steeled herself for what was to come next. She couldn't let Isabela find out.

"Quitting while you're behind, Rivaini?" said Varric with a smirk.

"I have my eyes on other prizes tonight," Isabela grinned. She downed her drink, then touched Hawke on the shoulder. The Champion recognized that tone. She'd heard it many times before. It was almost inevitably followed by sex. If Isabela got her into the bedroom, there was no way that she'd be able to keep the soreness or her preparations secret. Hawke panicked.

"I'd like to keep playing," desperately mumbled Hawke.

"What?" asked Isabela, incredulous. Maker, please, not this.

"I said I'd like to keep playing," repeated Hawke through eyes clenched shut.

Isabela coughed. A silent moment passed. "Suit yourself. I'll find my giggles elsewhere," she said coldly. The words felt like icy daggers in Hawke's chest. She couldn't bring herself to open her eyes until Isabela had left. Three pairs of eyes were still looking at her.

"Are you feeling well, Hawke? You don't look so good."

"I sympathize." was the abrupt response from Fenris.

"I hope you aren't coming down with something... perhaps you should try swallowing one of the Ambrosia seeds. Did you know they have curative properties? I thought they did... or perhaps it was the leaves that had the healing properties, and the seeds simply give you dizzy spells for a few days... Oh! That would explain the ringing in the ears now, wouldn't it?" Merrill babbled.

Hawke sat up and rubbed her shoulder. She glanced over toward the bar. Isabela had disappeared into a crowd of men; they looked like sailors on shore leave. Their deeply tanned bodies suggested that they were from perhaps Rivain, or Antiva. Hawke idly wondered whether they manned the ship Zevran was planning on taking.

"Let's just play the next hand," grumbled Hawke.

Six rounds later, Hawke had lost almost all of the coin she had won from her winning hand. Hawke sighed as she looked at her cards, and glanced at the crowd of men for the umpteenth time. Isabela was positively hanging off of one of the more handsome of the lot. A clean-shaven younger man, a blonde with fine musculature and many earrings.

"...Hawke?"

"Yes, Varric?" answered Hawke, whipping her head back to the table.

"It's your bet," he gently reminded.

"Oh... twenty bits." She threw in a handful of small coin. A few moments later, she looked back at Isabela again. She had a hand on the man's thigh. He had one on her ass. Hawke grimaced.

"Hawke!" came somebody's voice. Was it Varric's?

"What is it?" she yelled.

Merrill cowered a bit before her. "You're... You're crushing Varric's cards!" she squeaked. Hawke looked down. Her hands had clenched into fists, with the cards inside.

"I... I'm sorry," apologized Hawke. She placed the cards back on the table. "I think... I think I am done for tonight."

"You should go talk to her, Hawke," suggested Varric. "Don't worry about the cards. I borrowed them from your library anyway."

"I... I can't. I've never been able to control her, and I'm not what she wants right now," said Hawke bitterly.

"You sure about that?" wondered Varric. Hawke glared at him. "Alright, point taken. You do what you need to do," conceded the dwarf, raising both hands in a warding gesture.

"Just tell her that I'd like her to come to my estate tomorrow night at dusk," sighed Hawke. "You're all invited too," she added. She stood and finished her cup, taking a final look at Isabela. Their eyes met, and the pirate's amber eyes were full of defiance. Hawke put down her cup and quietly left the bar without looking back.

* * *

><p>Isabela snuck another glance at Hawke. Her friends had continued playing cards for a while, though she had caught Hawke occasionally throwing looks at her. She tilted back her glass and swallowed another mouthful of the warm liquid, then slammed the small cup onto the bar next to the other seven empties. The man to her right raised his own glass with a trembling hand, but managed to down it and slammed the glass to the bar as well. He stood a little unsteadily, but she was already pouring the next shots.<p>

"You look a bit unsteady. Are you sure you're up for this?" she taunted.

"B...bring it" her opponent grated. The onlookers cheered as they reached for their glasses. Isabela lifted her glass high, to the cheers of the crowd. She brought it to her lips, then tilted it back, swallowing its contents. Her opponent tried to lift his glass, and brought it to his lips, but Isabela took the chance to strike. She leaned in and gently blew into his ear. The man's eyes rolled up into his head and he fell, splashing a bit of whiskey on himself as he landed on the hard wooden floor.

The rest of the crowd let out a cheer, as Isabela grinned and raised her glass in victory. She took an unsteady step, and a hand reached out to help steady her. She looked up and saw a young, blonde man. From Dairsmiud, from the look at him. Sporting the traditional earrings of Rivaini men, he definitely wasn't bad looking. He certainly had good muscle tone from working long days on a ship. He was smiling at her and looking at her appraisingly. She glanced over at Hawke. Even across the room, she could clearly see the Champion's lanky silhouette. She posed a bit, thrusting her chest forward and smiled at the man seductively.

Stealing another look at Hawke, she began stroking his arm. He laughed and started talking about something. Isabela wasn't really paying much attention to what he was saying though, but she did put her hands on his body encouragingly.

Varric's words echoed in her foggy mind. "... show her what she's missing," she murmured to herself. The blonde didn't notice. Perhaps he had thought she meant she was talking about herself. She felt his hand on her rear, and she touched his leg. She hoped Hawke was watching. She hoped Hawke was feeling sharp pangs of jealousy.

She froze for a moment. Sharp pangs of jealousy? No, she wanted Hawke to feel the deep, gripping bile-filled feelings she'd been having for the past two days. Her expression darkened, as she mulled over the thoughts in her head. The sound of a heavy chair scraping along the wooden floor caught her attention, shaking Isabela from her thoughts. Hawke had stood up, and was leaving. They made eye contact for a brief moment, and Isabela saw sadness in Hawke's normally bright eyes. Then Hawke turned and left.

She hadn't even looked back.

Isabela stood there for a moment, lost in the wash of her tumultous feelings, before she felt a gentle squeeze on her buttocks. It was the blonde, and he was still grinning at her. The smile melted from her face, and she brushed his hand aside with a sigh as she walked back to Varric's table.

"Did Hawke just leave?" demanded Isabela, hands on hips.

Varric looked up from his hand. "Are you sure that's the question you want to ask, Rivaini?" he asked.

"It should be self-evident. Hawke has departed for the evening," affirmed Fenris, tossing a pair of cards down. "Two, please."

"Isabela, she didn't look well. I hope you can talk to her." suggested Merrill. She threw in one card.

"'Ey, love! I hope you ain't gonna just leave me like this!" called a masculine voice behind Isabela. It was probably the blonde. She ignored him.

"Did she say anything?" asked the pirate.

Varric shared a glance with Fenris and Merrill before answering. "Rivaini, you know we like you. But you'd better be clear about what's going on here. Just what did you think was going to happen tonight?"

"Surely Isabela has been in situations like this before. She must have had a plan!" declared Merrill cheerfully. She paused a moment. "You had a plan, didn't you?" she asked, eyes wide.

"Oi, are you listenin'?" came the annoying blonde again. He reached out toward the pirate, but she swatted his hand away without even looking in his direction.

Isabela pondered for a moment. "I hadn't really worked out all the kinks... Step one, I make Hawke jealous. Step two, I don't know... something exciting happens. Step three, sex!" she declared, laughing. She was greeted by three blank stares.

"What?" she asked. "It's always worked like that before," she said defensively.

"I don't think that was a very good plan," observed Merrill sadly.

"Hawke has requested that you visit her at her estate tomorrow night at dusk," stated Fenris. Isabela looked at him gratefully.

"Isabela," he continued. "I enjoy your company and I occasionally win money from you at cards, so I feel I should offer some advice. It is up to you whether to accept it. Hawke is my friend. She is probably my only friend. Be good to her. Or else." he said solemnly.

"Hey, bitch! You can't just leave me here with blue balls!" roared the blonde, clapping one hand on her shoulder.

"Of course not," the pirate replied sweetly. She gave him a seductive smile as she turned and ran a finger from his hand to his shoulder. Isabela stepped into his embrace, and wrapped both of her arms around his neck.

"Now, where were we?" she teased, looking into his brown eyes. "Oh, right."

She locked her arms in a vice-like grip around his neck to keep him from escaping, and slammed her right knee into his groin. He fell to the floor with a groan that made Varric wince. Isabela looked down at him.

"I thought I'd leave you with crushed balls," she mocked as she stepped over him.

"That bitch just kicked Corin!" shouted one of the sailors. The mob of sailors began scrambling toward her with murder in their eyes.

Isabela smirked as she heard Varric, Fenris and Merrill rapidly getting out of their seats. The pirate cracked her knuckles. At least this time she had some allies.

* * *

><p>Hawke found herself busy the next afternoon. Bodahn and Sandal were setting up the decorations. Orana was busy preparing the special party favors, and Hawke was in the kitchen. The decadent smells of whipped cream, fresh pastry and sizzling meat filled the air. The Champion put all of her battle planning strategies to work, trying to organize the proper cooking times for each recipe. As the hours ticked by, the dishes were laid out, the vegetables were cut, and the meats were spiced. She sprinkled some pastries with crystallized sugar, and others were iced with colored confection, and the last few were brushed with fresh butter and cinnamon. Finally, all of the preparations were complete, as Hawke wiped her forehead with a hand towel, and breathed a sigh of relief. As the sun lazily sank down, its orange rays illuminated the kitchen in a warm glow.<p>

"Champion, I believe it is time for you to make your final preparations. I shall assist the others," announced Zevran from the doorway. He wore a forest green velvet doublet instead of his usual leather jerkin, and some eye-catching leather boots.

"Ah, so you noticed my footwear. Genuine Antivan leather. It was a gift from a good friend of mine," he grinned. He waved her out as he picked up the first of several serving platters laden with food.

Hawke pulled off her frilly pink apron, and walked up the stairs to her room. She stripped off her tunic and underclothes, and stood in front of her mirror, naked. She gave a small sigh, and looked to the bed where her eveningwear had been laid out. She looked over the outfit.

"I hope she appreciates this."

Merrill was the first to arrive. She marveled at the blue satin curtains and table covers, and went to water the plants before the others appeared.

"The plants need their attention," she has mused, as she filled the pot.

Fenris was the second. As he entered, he pressed his hilt into Bodahn's hand. Fenris glanced over the decorations and food, before helping himself to some of the spiced butterfish. He then sat down with a book on Kirkwall's laws, and began working his way through it slowly.

Sebastian came third. His armor positively gleamed, looking like it was freshly polished. He waved a greeting to Fenris before sitting down by the elf. They chatted a bit about the Chantry and the Maker.

Varric soon entered, escorted by Aveline and Donnic. Varric was enjoying a glass full of a deep blue liqueur, while Aveline sampled hors d'oeuvres laid out. When she tried the sliced pork in _bar-cava_ marinade, her eyes first widened then began tearing up. Donnic quickly fetched some milk to calm down the blazing heat in his wife's mouth, while Varric mentally noted to include such a scene in his next _Hard in Hightown_ novel.

Merrill returned from watering the plants, and joined Aveline in her sampling. Aveline made sure to have a glass of milk ready for her and the _bar-cava_ pork.

Varric had pulled out a small notebook, and sat down with Donnic to ask him about his experiences as a guardsman. They were deep in discussion about a slaver's ring when Anders arrived. He looked a bit wild-eyed and nervous, but he joined Aveline and Merrill at the hors d'oeuvres table, where to their surprise, they discovered that Anders had a high spice tolerance.

"Justice doesn't let it affect me," he said sadly, as he ate his third slice of _bar-cava_ pork on flatbread. "Spice is one of the few things that I can enjoy for the flavor."

Zevran had quietly entered, and he pulled a small wind instrument from his velvet doublet. He and Orana began playing a light melody, a calm seafaring piece. Then Isabela made her entrance.

* * *

><p>Her eyes darted to and fro, drinking in the room. The decorations were just right for a nobleman's home in Llomeryn. The wide curtains of the deep blue reminded her of the sea. The tableclothes covered with royal blue silk, then covered in silver platters reminded her of the Antivan feastday banquets. And the food... She recognized much of it.<p>

There was spiced butterfish covered in a honey and walnut glaze, almost as if it had been served on the docks of Rialto. Stuffed mushrooms with diced peppers and Antivan sausage. Hawke had even prepared sliced _bar-cava_ pork. But her favorite had to be the grilled long-necked clams, with a bit of lemon juice and garlic. The cooking of those clams had to be just right, or it would easily make one sick. But done correctly, it tasted like a slice of heaven, tender and sweet and juicy all at once. She tasted some of the old, familiar tastes, and relished them. Noticing Zevran near the fireplace gently playing his _vente-fusta_, she walked over to him.

"This was your doing, wasn't it?" she accused. He did not drop a beat, but a smile formed on his lips as he trilled a merry tune on his instrument.

"There is no way that she would have known all this," reasoned the pirate. Zevran replied with a series of low notes.

"Fine, so it wasn't you. You just... helped. You told her what she needed to do for all this." The elf smiled as the music rose in pitch.

"Weren't you... and she?" asked Isabela. Zevran responded with a quick series of falling tones, gradually diminishing the volume.

"But... I heard you!" she exclaimed, frustrated. Zevran shrugged, as he blew out a series of rapidly rising and falling scales. Finally, the music rose to a crescendo, as Zevran raised his _vente-fusta_ and played a beautiful, slow ballroom piece with Orana's accompaniment. Isabela immediately recognized the piece they were playing; it was the one used to announce the presence of the Queen of Antiva.

* * *

><p>She felt nervous. Even if these were her closest friends and stalwart companions, she still felt nervous. As she descended the stairs, she felt all eyes on her. The Champion of Kirkwall was no stranger to people looking at her, but somehow it was different when the eyes belonged to her closest friends. Her earrings jingled a bit. Hawke was definitely not used to wearing earrings of such size. Her neck also felt a bit heavy. She was wearing many different gold necklaces, some encrusted with jewels, others simplistic gold chains. One was an intricate web of interwoven gold leaves. Her fingers were decorated in bejeweled rings of all colors.<p>

The dress was what felt most scandalous. A deep purple, absolutely festooned with silken ruffles clung to her body, cut high on the left thigh to afford freedom of movement, and low on the top to emphasize her feminine curves. She had always been a bit self-conscious of her figure next to Isabela, but Isabela had always insisted that her body was imminently worth displaying. Her soft leather boots didn't make a sound as she stepped out to meet her friends.

"Thank you all for coming. I hope you are all enjoying yourselves tonight. I wanted to have a special evening to thank you all for your continued support and care. I trust it is to your satisfaction," she said. Her friends murmured their agreement.

"We have been together for many years. We've been through the good times, and the bad times. And even through the worst times, like when Varric snores. " Some small measure of laughter greeted her.

" I just wanted to tell you how much I love and appreciate you all," Hawke announced.

Bodahn quickly approached the Champion with a full glass of of the blue liqueur. Hawke took it and raised it in the air.

"To close friends and stalwart companions!" she shouted. Glasses were raised, and toasts proclaimed. Hawke smiled and moved toward the table, eyeing a pink frosted cupcake.

"Hawke, this was such a lovely idea! Did you make the food yourself? It's delicious, except for that strange pork dish. It makes my tongue all raspy, did you know it would do that?" chattered Merrill. Hawke smiled and hugged Merrill about the shoulders with one arm.

"I'm glad you're enjoying it. I don't see you often enough while you're always playing with that giant mirror of yours," smiled the Champion, releasing the elf girl.

"I'm not playing," pouted Merrill. Her expression brightened. "I think I've got it, this week's channeling ointment will need three bits of drakestone and some of that strange pork dish..." Merrill said to herself as she wandered away.

Hawke picked up the cupcake and was about to lick it when she was interrupted.

"I wish I could eat sweets like that, but a fat apostate would likely be dragged off to the circle in two shakes of a kitten's tail," quipped Anders.

Hawke smirked at him. "Are you saying that I'm fat, Anders?" she mockingly accused.

"Oh, no! Most definitely not! I was just... commenting on the fact that sweets go straight to my hips!" stammered Anders uncomfortably.

"Don't worry about it, Serah Hawke. We'll make sure this one doesn't get dragged off by templars this night," said Donnic, bringing Aveline with him.

"Thank you for the lovely invitation, Hawke. We'll be having a dinner party next week for equinox. I hope you will join us," invited Aveline.

"I'd love to," agreed the Champion. She excused herself and took a bite of the cupcake. Moving to the next pair, she watched as Fenris and Sebastian continued their theological debate.

"Honestly, Fenris. I think the Chantry has had a marvelous effect on you," smiled Sebastian.

"Can you really claim that as the doing of the Maker?" countered Fenris. "One could argue that thanking the Maker for exercising our own free will gives too much credit."

"Aye, it's hard to see beyond one's own limitations. Just keep an open mind, perhaps that would be sufficient to begin to see His touch," suggested Sebastian.

"I think that is a wonderful idea." agreed Hawke. "Having an open mind is always good advice." She exchanged a few more pleasantries with them, before leaving them to their discussion.

"You alright, Hawke?" asked Varric.

"I will be," answered the Champion. "A little nervous, perhaps."

"It's strange hearing that from you. You've faced down dragons, blood mages, horrors, and abominations. Don't let it get out that the mighty Champion of Kirkwall's weakness is a party with her closest friends," Varric laughed.

"You'd better promise not to tell them!" whispered Hawke fiercely. Varric chuckled.

She glanced toward the fireplace, where Isabela was somehow chatting with a _vente-fusta_ playing Zevran.

"Don't worry about me, Hawke. Go say hello," Varric suggested. "I'm just going to get some more of this wonderful blue Llomeryn whiskey."

The Champion approached the pirate. Her eyes drank in every detail of the Rivaini woman. The way her cheeks were full and lush, her bright and mischievous eyes, her pouty, sensuous lips, and her beautiful bronzed skin.

"Isabela," she greeted, a bit nervously.

"Hawke," the pirate nodded.

"I... wish to show you something. Please accept it," offered Hawke. Hawke pointed to Zevran and made a hand signal. Zevran waved to Orana, and they both stopped playing.

Isabela shifted in her large, plush chair. Zevran grinned, and clapped his hands together. _Clap!_ Then again. And again. _Clap! Clap! Clap!_ Three regular beats, followed by four staccato ones. _ClapClapClapClap!_ Isabela joined in on the clapping, and soon Varric, Merrill, and all of the others were clapping along with the beat. And Hawke began to dance.

* * *

><p>Isabela watched, mesmerized as Hawke danced. Her motions were confident and smooth, all swaying hips and undulating stomach and gentle caresses with her hands. The lanky Champion's long limbs were under her complete control, as she shimmied and curved her body along to the beat. Hawke stepped forward then back; one moment she had her hands around her face, emphasizing the upper body, and the next she had bent over and drawn all attention to her beautifully round buttocks. But before the pirate could focus on that, Hawke had already straightened and returned to her chaotic, beautiful motions.<p>

The rest of the room seemed to vanish into the background, she heard no sound aside from her own clapping and Hawke's soft footfalls. The rest of the people faded from view, and it was only Isabela and Hawke in their own private world, eyes locked on each other. Her bright eyes called to the pirate, pulling her in. Her smooth hands beckoned Isabela forth, promising pleasure and joy. Her pink lips curved into a smile, warm, inviting and luscious. The undulating motion of her hips could not be ignored, exerting a pull on Isabela as inexorable as the tides. Isabela's heart was pounding in her chest. And Hawke continued to dance.

It might have been the genuine Llomeryn whiskey that Isabela had been drinking. Perhaps the folk tales about long necked clams having aphrodisiac properties were true. It could have just been an ache, deep inside her belly, raging with desire that had been awakened. Regardless of its source, Isabela found herself unable to look away, unable to break the gaze of the woman dancing before her.

Finally, what seemed like hours later, Hawke ended the dance with a slow, sensual strut. She moved forward as if made of pure attitude, challenging every person in the room with just the motions of her hips. She ended her dance standing directly in front of Isabela, breathing hard but with triumph in her eyes. The rest of the world slowly came back into focus, as she heard the sound of feverish applause from their other companions. Breathing heavily, Isabela sat back into her seat with a hungry smile on her face.

* * *

><p>After Donnic and Aveline escorted Anders home from Hawke's estate, only Hawke, Isabela and Zevran remained, sprawled out on one of Hawke's large sofas.<p>

"I told him that real Llomeryn whiskey was strong stuff. He didn't believe me," sighed Isabela. Zevran and Hawke both laughed.

"So... when did you learn to dance the _sar-sara_, Hawke?" asked Isabela evenly. "It was lovely."

"I learned it yesterday. From Zevran," admitted Hawke.

"The key to understanding it is the attitude. Once I was sure she had it, the rest was easy," mused Zevran.

"And painful," Hawke added. "I ached all over last night. It wasn't until this morning that the balm Anders had given me actually helped relieve some of that soreness."

Isabela crossed her arms and frowned. Was that Hawke's plan? To continue to rub her face in the fact she had been brushed aside? She reached into her sash pocket and pulled out a single gold sovereign.

"Zev, visit the Blooming Rose tonight. I'm sure you'll find someone or two to your liking." commanded Isabela.

Zevran laughed. "How kind of you, Isabela. I hope the discussions go well in my absence," he said with a bow. " I thank you for your generous hospitality, Champion." he added, as he took the gold coin from Isabela and excused himself.

"What's this all about, Hawke? Are you just trying to push me to see how far I will go? Do you have to keep doing this? I can't take it any longer. I heard you the night before. You and Zev... doing things!"

"You... heard us?" asked Hawke, confused. "You heard us and you thought..."

"I was even willing to join in. I thought you were just sampling Zev's wares. But then you said to keep it from me, and I... I don't know what," the pirate angrily confessed. "It's been eating me up inside!"

"Oh Isabela, what am I going to do with you?" sighed Hawke. Hawke reached down and took Isabela's hand in hers. "Isabela, Zevran was giving me a massage."

"A... massage?" echoed the pirate. Her anger drained out of her like a sieve, replaced by confusion and a bit of reassurance.

"Yes... I know how proud of your massages you are, and I do enjoy them, but Zevran was doing this thing with the oils, and a hot stone, and..." Hawke trailed off as Isabela covered her eyes with the back of her forearm and slumped in her seat.

"Maker's breath, a bloody massage," she sighed. She was silent for several moments, before admitting "I'm such a fool. It all seems so stupid now."

"You didn't do anything with that Antivan sailor last night, did you?" mumbled Hawke.

Isabela laughed, a genuine, infectiously happy sound. "I kicked him in his treasure. Does that count?"

Hawke slid next to Isabela and leaned back against her body. "Then I'll forgive you on two conditions," she proposed with an impish smile on her face.

"And what might those be?," replied Isabela.

"The first condition... I demand sex. Really, really good sex," purred Hawke.

Isabela squeezed Hawke's hand. "I think that might be arranged," she smiled. "What's the second?"

Hawke looked up into the pirate's glowing face and smiled a wicked little smile.

"I get to be on top."

_fin_.

* * *

><p>BONUS:<p>

"I most certainly did NOT," vehemently denied the pirate.

"I have it on good authority that you most certainly _did,_" laughed the Champion.

"Damn that Zevran," cursed Isabela as she lay her head on Hawke's naked belly. She felt the comfortable rise and fall of her makeshift pillow as Hawke breathed.

"Why did you love that hat so much?" asked Hawke, gently stroking Isabela's hair.

"Because it was the first thing that I ever had that was genuinely mine. It meant something to me... it reminded me that I was my own," sighed Isabela wistfully.

"It sounds very sweet. Now about those dresses you keep borrowing..."

* * *

><p><em>Author's Note: Once again, I started with a small scenario in mind, and once again it spirals somewhat beyond my control to a rather ridiculous size. I've been steadily encouraged to keep writing, and so I continue to do so. The ideas keep coming, and the characters have entranced me, so perhaps I can keep this up.<em>

_Once again, many thanks to my prereaders. They have been exceedingly helpful, and extraordinarily gracious. If you wish to help, feel free to send me an e-mail at hoorayforicecream(at)yahoo(dot)com, or a PM here on the site. If you send a PM, please make sure you check your PMs._

_Finally, I've been meaning to ask you, my readers, whether you prefer the smaller, shorter character pieces like "Cupcakes", and "Earrings" or the longer, sprawling tales such as "Marathon" or "Crossed". Obviously, longer stories take longer to write, proof, edit, and post. I've still no shortage of ideas, but I do wonder what the readers prefer. Would you prefer longer, more involved pieces or more, shorter ones? If you choose to leave a review or comment, please include your thoughts on the matter. It would be greatly appreciated._


	6. Yesterday

Yesterday

It began with just the heat. The sun crept up into the sky and flooded the room with its warm rays, inching its way past the sheets and slowly onto Isabela's bronze skin. First it claimed her hand, then her arm, and gently up to her shoulder, where it quickly illuminated her glorious chest. She tried to avoid it by rolling over, but the inevitable onslaught of warmth caught her back, and then her hair. She flopped onto her back, cracked an eye open, and was immediately rewarded for her trouble by the full frontal assault of a headache that made her feel like the Arishok was attempting to bash its way out from behind her eyes with a sledgehammer. She blinked, and smacked her lips. Something had left a bad taste in her mouth, but she couldn't remember what. In fact, she could barely remember anything at all from the night before. She stretched a bit in the large bed, and realized she was naked.

"Well, at least it appears I had _some_ fun last night," she mumbled to herself. A quick check revealed that, despite her wishes otherwise, no sex had taken place within the past twelve hours.

"Balls," she cursed. Isabela closed her eyes again and pinched the bridge of her nose, willing the Arishok behind her eyes to leave her in peace. She was still lost in her mental battle when she felt a tender, soft kiss on her cheek. Her amber eyes opened, and glanced furtively for the perpetrator. They focused on Hawke, smiling sweetly at her. Her bright eyes danced with mischief and her smile lit up the room, but her beautiful face had been marred by a large bruise darkening her right cheek. Isabela wondered what had happened to her lover's face when Hawke broke the silence.

"Your clothes are on the table. I'm late for an appointment, but I'll see you tonight. Don't forget your promise," she said happily, before lightly brushing Isabela's face with her fingers. Before Isabela could finish completing a coherent thought, Hawke had left the room. Isabela covered her eyes with her palm and let out a deep breath.

"Maker's breath, what happened last night?" she asked herself aloud. She clearly remembered meeting Hawke at the Hanged Man for some drinks, and then... disjointed, blurry images. In her mind's eye, she pieced out images of a red bottle, a bar scuffle, and a shouting Varric. She could remember the sounds of tearful cries, the clanking sounds of armored feet, and the drumming sound of rapid footfalls fleeing. A niggling suspicion in her mind finally elbowed its way past the hazy feeling of uncertainty into the forefront of her consciousness, and reminded her of something Hawke said.

"Promise? What promise?"

She got up from the bed and softly padded over to her clothing, taking a moment to admire herself in the mirror. She would have preened a bit more if the Arishok had not decided to renew his assault on her skull at that moment. As she reached for her clothing, she felt a momentary pang of girlish happiness when she saw a single long-stemmed rose left on top of the bundle of clothing. With a smile on her face despite her headache, she smelled the rose before slipping her tunic over her head. After dressing as quickly as the Qunari in her skull allowed, she stumbled out of Hawke's estate to clear her head the best way she knew how.

* * *

><p>By the time she reached the Hanged Man, the Arishok had given up the sledgehammer in favor of a pair of battle maces, and was demonstrating his dual wielding capabilities on her temples. The sun's light was unnaturally bright, and the sounds of the Lowtown market uncharacteristically grated on her sensitive ears like nails on chalkboard. She managed to get inside, and staggered to the bar. Slamming a handful of coin on the wooden counter, she waved for whiskey. When the bartender brought her the cup, she seized it greedily and tilted some of the lukewarm liquid down her throat.<p>

"Leave the bottle," she mumbled.

After her first sip, the Arishok gave a slight pause in his assault. By the time she finished the cup, he had stopped his attack entirely. She felt much better, and shook away the last remnants of her headache. However awake and clear-minded she was, she still could not remember the events of the previous night. She decided to go find the only person she could remember. Perhaps Varric would be able to fill in the gaps.

As she approached his palatial suite, she noticed his door was uncharacteristically closed. She loudly rapped on the door twice, and waited for a response. Through the door, she heard a loud thump, followed by cursing, and then thrashing noises. Eventually, the thrashing gave way to footfalls, and the door cracked open. A bloodshot eye at breast level peered out from the crack at her. It blinked.

"Rivaini, is that you?" Varric growled.

"Yes," she affirmed. The door slammed shut. She rapped on the door again. It cracked open and the same bloodshot eye peered out again. Isabela raised one of her long-bladed knives and aimed its flinty point at the pupil in front of her.

"Open the door, Varric. I need to talk to you," she commanded. The dwarf glanced between the knifepoint and the expression on her face. He sighed, and opened the door. The dwarf looked like a mess. His leather duster was carelessly thrown across the large table, and his normally-immaculate shirt was rumpled, stained and, in some places, torn. His pants looked like they had vomit on them, and he wore only one boot.

"What do you want, Rivaini?" he grumped.

"Varric, I need to know. What happened last night? The last I remember, you were yelling about something, but the rest is all a blur."

He chuckled, before steadying his head with one hand. She extended her cup to him and filled it. He gratefully nodded before swallowing the contents of the cup. He motioned at the chairs in the room, and she nodded and sat. The pirate propped her feet up on the table as he sat down next to her. She gave him a few moments to gather his thoughts and chase the hangover away.

"Shit, Rivaini. Whatever that red stuff was that you brought last night was, it sure kicks like a mule the morning after," he complained.

"That's how you know it's a party," she quipped. He chuckled.

"Seriously, what was that stuff? I'm no slouch when it comes to drinking, but even I felt like an eight-year-old getting into his uncle's liquor cabinet."

"Genuine Llomeryn Whiskey, but flavored with _gal_-_cia_ berries instead of _bar-lona_ tearfruit. The berries give it a lot more kick."

"Kick is right. I felt like..." he began.

"... Like the Arishok is using a pair of battle maces on the inside of your skull?" she finished for him.

"Yeah, how did you know?"

She tapped her own temple with a finger.

He chuckled again. "So you really want to know what happened last night?"

She nodded.

He sighed and said, "I really should be angry at you, Rivaini. But you just helped me with my first hangover in years, and I know you didn't mean it, so I guess I can tell you. I'll just need a little help from you while I tell you to make it right."

"What kind of help?" She asked, suspicious.

"The kind I can only get from the fastest blade in Llomeryn," he smiled. "I'm in a jam, and need your womanly charms and unique skill set to help out."

"Well, if you put it that way..." she said, flattered.

He stumped over to the table, and pulled back his leather duster. Beneath it was a sheaf of parchments, spattered and stained with red liquid. Varric split the sheaves of paper into two roughly equal stacks, and drew forth a third, clean bundle of parchment. He put it down next to the two, and produced several inkpots and two quills. He handed one to Isabela, and grinned.

"What's all this?" asked the confused pirate.

"You're going to help me copy all of these contracts," he stated with a smug expression on his face.

"_WHAT_?"

"You've got the fastest hands in Llomeryn, and your womanly charms can help smooth over some of the language. "

"But... but..." She glanced around frantically looking for an escape.

"Come on Rivaini, you said you'd help," he continued."You wanted to know what happened last night, didn't you?"

She slumped in defeat. He handed her one of the quills and a fresh parchment.

As she began to write, Varric settled in with his own quill and started talking.

"Ok, from what I remember, it happened like this..."

* * *

><p>"No shit, there I was, just sitting at a table and being served some drinks by Edwina, when you and Hawke came in. I was half-expecting a bar fight to erupt any moment. I know the type of trouble you two bring, especially when you're together. But no, you two were just talking, giggling, and then I noticed it. Had I known that you were going to bring that kind of trouble into my house, I never would have invited you over. But I always did have a soft spot for Hawke, and you I kind of tolerate by association, so I invited you two over to join me at my table while I did my paperwork . Stop giving me that look, Rivaini. Your face will freeze like that if you do.<p>

Where was I? Right, Hawke had that bottle that looked like it had been filled with liquid rubies. You laughed when she pulled it out, didn't you? You _knew_. You knew the sorts of things that were in that bottle. I bet you thought you could handle it. You said it was Llomeryn whiskey, but it was the red flavor instead of the blue one we had at that party Hawke threw a few weeks back. Yeah, you've explained it _now_, but when Hawke first brought the bottle out, I wasn't really thinking about it.

I don't remember what she called it, but I do remember it tasting wonderful. That clear crimson liquid went down as smooth as Orlesian silk, with the sort of pleasant heat you get from a warm fire on a chilly day. Andraste's dimpled left butt cheek, did it pack a punch. We shared a glass or two of it, and had started to talk about the party. You were giving her that look you do when you don't think anyone else is watching. Yes, that one. Hey, keep writing or I won't finish the story!

I think the drink was affecting you a bit more strongly than you thought. We somehow ended up talking about Hawke's dance. I'm not normally one to go into such details, but that dance could have made a desire demon give up her tassels. I'm pretty sure that everyone there felt something stirring, even Choirboy. That night I ended up doing things to Bianca that I'd never say in polite company, that's for sure.

Now, to be honest, I don't know what prompted whatever came next. Maybe it was Hawke, trying to get you to act out. Maybe it was me, trying to goad you into doing something _entertaining_. Maybe it was you, just because you could.

Ancestors, stop giving me that look! You know I never twist your arm into doing some of the things you do, and your ass healed just fine from that burn that one time. I told you that trying to juggle those torches was a bad idea, but you had to try to prove me wrong. I think that was the subtlety of that red liquor we were drinking, it didn't _feel_ like I was more hammered than a blacksmith's anvil. Everything _felt_ perfectly normal, until I woke up to a Qunari invasion in my skull. Anyway, somehow you ended up proclaiming your ability to dance, and Hawke made one of those snippy comments. You know the type, where she gives that subtle encouragement wrapped in a tiny insult with that cocky grin of hers, and the next thing I know, you're climbing up onto the table to show us your dance.

That's about when I realized how strong that Llomeryn whiskey really is. I've seen you put away the normal stuff easily. You can drink most men under the table without much trouble, but even you were starting to act unsteady on your feet. You started moving, and at the start it looked pretty decent. Fair warning, I may be misremembering because of you giving me an eyeful while standing on the table. I am guessing Hawke got a similar view, because her grin was ear to ear.

When you started actually trying to dance, we found out that the tables here are really just wooden planks set on more planks. Not nailed in, not securely fastened, just... placed precariously. How precariously, you might ask? Precarious enough that with your first spin, the table started to wobble. With the second, you looked like you were about to fall. And the third? Both you and the table top went flying in opposite directions. You must've been lucky last night, Rivaini. You fell on Hawke, and the table fell on me. I climbed out feeling like I'd just been punched by Aveline, and tried to go help you and Hawke up.

Big mistake.

Yeah, you see this nice little stain here on my leg? That's you. More accurately, I think that's your supper from last night. Yeah, the spinning, the liquor and the fall all added up to some rather massive unpleasantness on your part. If you think this is bad, it's nothing compared to Hawke. Hawke got the worst of it, no question. I think you painted most of her front side.

You are one lucky woman, Rivaini. I might have come back for you after cleaning myself off, but she made sure you were alright before she left. She even tucked you into bed.

Bruise? What bruise? You landed on her body, not her face. I don't remember seeing a bruise.

Ah, that's because I wasn't finished. I said she tucked you into bed. I didn't say you stayed there. You see, she made the biggest mistake of the night after tucking you in. She left the bottle. You were only out for a little bit, before getting back up again. I had enough bruises for one night, so when you came to my suite a few minutes later with the bottle and a cup, I had to decline your gracious invitation. I believe your words were "Come on, Varric. Let's go give Kitten some of this milk!" The last I saw of you, you were heading out the door of the Hanged Man."

* * *

><p>Isabela's hand had gone numb. She finished the last pen stroke on the parchment, put it on the stack, and groaned. Massaging her hand, she sighed "So I went to Kitten's last night after trying to dance the <em>sar-sara<em>, falling, and then retching all over you and Hawke?"

"Ancestors' honor," swore Varric.

She gave a small laugh. "At least it's not the worst thing I've done while drunk off my ass," she quipped.

"Thank you for your help, Rivaini. A pleasure doing business with you," nodded Varric.

"You and I clearly have different definitions of pleasure," remarked Isabela as she rubbed her wrist. She stood and walked to the door.

"Wicked Grace later?" she asked as she left.

"Wouldn't miss it," replied the dwarf.

* * *

><p>Isabela wove her way through the Lowtown marketplace in the early afternoon, handily liberating a fresh pastry from a distracted baker, and a new wineskin from a vintner who wasn't looking. As she turned the corner, she heard someone shout "Hey, you! Wait!". Not one to stand around under such a command, the pirate quickly tucked the flaky pastry into her belt pouch and slung the wineskin over one shoulder. She dashed around a corner as she heard scrambling behind her.<p>

As she hid herself in a darkened doorway for a few moments, her fingers quickly undid her bandana, tucked her hair up into a bun, then retied it to immediately change her hairstyle. She unfastened the sash at her waist, and unfolded the cloth to its full size. Wrapping it around her waist, she had an effective knee-length skirt. She unslung the wineskin, and held it in both hands, using it to help block visibility of her breasts. Finally, she hunched over as if very weary, and adopted a slow, shuffling gait. Her disguise complete, she left her hiding place and rejoined the crowd. A moment later, a pair of guardsmen pushed past the seemingly old woman struggling to get out of their way, and continued their search for the pirate. She shuffled slowly until the sounds of the metal greaves faded, then straightened and continued into the alienage.

The pirate approached Merrill's door and knocked. The door opened inward, and with a burst of speed, Merrill latched onto Isabela in a strong hug that buried the elf's face between the pirate's generous breasts. Surprised, Isabela awkwardly patted the mage on the shoulder.

"Kitten, are you alright?" she asked, concerned. She glanced back and forth, looking for guardsmen.

"I'm sorry! Oh, Isabela, I'm so sorry for what I did! Please forgive me!" cried Merrill into the pirate's cleavage. Other elves roaming the alienage had begun to stare at the odd sight.

"Let's talk about this inside," soothed Isabela, stroking the crying elf girl's back. "People are beginning to stare."

"Alright..." Merrill sniffled. The two women entered the small home and Merrill closed the door behind them. The elf waved Isabela toward a threadbare chair, then pulled a similar chair up nearby. She sniffled a bit, turning her large green eyes on the pirate. Isabela pulled out her pastry and offered it to Merrill. The young mage gratefully accepted it and nibbled the corner of the flaky confection. Isabela unstoppered the wineskin and took a pull from it, tasting the fresh, fruity taste of new wine. She offered the skin to Merrill, who took one sniff and recoiled as if Isabela had offered her a live cobra.

"_Isabela_! No, no alcohol, no thank you!" she stammered. "Not after last night!" she squeaked, eyes darting about the room.

Isabela followed Merrill's eyes, and looked around the room. Several large scorch marks decorating the walls, and she noticed that many pieces of furniture had been blackened, as if they had been set on fire. A large empty bucket sat in the corner. It looked like it had been recently used. Near the charred table was a stool completely encased in slowly melting ice. Isabela raised an eyebrow.

"Kitten, what happened? Just take a deep breath and tell me."

Merrill nodded, breathed deeply, and began to explain.

* * *

><p>"I was making my final preparations to the channeling ointment when I heard a knock on my door. I usually have so few visitors, so I thought it must be Varric come to check up on me. When you visit, it's usually during the day; you rarely come at night. I suspect you must be very busy most nights. Do you spend them with Hawke? I suspect you do, though you never mention her in any of your stories. Were the stories you tell me all from before you met her? I thought some of them sounded like they were about Hawke, but you never say. Oh, right. Sorry.<p>

You came to my door and I invited you in. I offered you what I could, though it wasn't much... just some fruits and bread. You asked me to join you for a drink. I didn't think too much of it, I do like to drink on occasion. It seemed like you were having a good time, and I always like it when you're smiling. It makes me feel happy just to share in your joy, and I thought I might get you to tell me some more stories. I do love it when you tell me stories, it makes me feel a little less dreary, a little less dull, as I imagine myself with passionate lovers, or in daring battles, or even just seeing the world and exploring far-off places. I imagine that I'd like to see Antiva... you make it sound so exciting, so wonderful.

Where was I? Oh yes. You shared a cup with me, of this marvelous red liquid. It burned like fire, and warmed me right down to my toes. The world went spinning, and I remember... I remember you telling me this story, about a whore at the Blooming Rose. Something... about how a man came to see her. I don't quite remember all of the details, but I remember you laughing merrily about the story as you told it. The whore charged ten sovereigns for a night with her, and the same man came to see her three nights in a row despite the high cost. Then you said that on the third night, the man introduced himself as a courier, there to deliver 30 sovereigns to her as her inheritance. I said I thought that was kind of him, and that just made you laugh even more.

Stop laughing! I mean it! One of these days I am going to make you to explain to me what is so funny about delivering a woman's inheritance... and why that other woman suddenly changed her mind... and what that story was about the man with only two toes on one foot. I'll make you tell me, don't think that I won't!

Ah, yes. Right. Sorry about that. What we did after that... We drank some more, and then I tried to teach you about what I had been working on. You see, the channeling ointment is the most important part of my efforts to restore the eluvian. I feel like I am so close, but I need to focus the magic into the ointment, which is spread over the cracks in the mirror. If the ointment works properly, the cracks are filled and the mirror can absorb the magic, like I had hoped. The next part gets a bit muddled, I'm afraid. I don't quite remember, and I kept sipping the drink you had brought me.

I must have nodded off the first time, because I don't remember ending up in a heap on the floor. You'd think that these long, gangly limbs of mine would be proof against that, wouldn't you? You laughed and offered me more of the liquor. I hate to say it, but I wasn't thinking clearly when I accepted that drink... I don't really remember falling asleep, but I remember a vivid dream of a demon trying to speak to me, to reach for me, to touch me, and then suddenly waking to see a shadowy figure looming over me, and I was so frightened... I think I cast a spell, and the shadow leaped out of the way, and... well, you can see for yourself the damage I caused to my own house. I saw it again out of the corner of my eye, and I remember a flash of light and a blast of heat. Then I remember being grabbed from behind, in an iron grip, but my back pressed against something very soft. I think I heard your voice saying soothing things, and you helped me into bed.

The rest was a bit of a blur, but I remember hearing pounding at my door and then some shouting, something about the city guardsmen. What would they be doing here? Aveline only ever comes alone. I was a bit worried, but I knew you were with me, so I was safe. When I woke this morning, it was light out and my head felt like a herd of halla was racing through it, trampling everything in its path. Elgar'nan, I think I soaked my head in the bucket for an hour before the headache subsided. I don't think I ever want to drink again."

* * *

><p>"I realized that it hadn't been a shadowy demon at all, but you in the dim light. I'm so sorry, Isabela!" finished Merrill. Her lower lip quivered, like she was about to cry again.<p>

"Oh, Kitten," soothed the pirate. "There there. It's alright, no harm done. I barely remember what happened last night myself. Look, I'm perfectly fine."

"I'm so relieved," sighed Merrill, finally relaxing. She pulled her legs up and hugged her knees. "I don't know what I would do if you got hurt because of me," she said very quietly, looking down at her toes.

Warm, bronzed arms encircled the elf from behind, and gave her a gentle hug. Merrill's eyes darted upward to see the chair opposite her empty. "Kitten, you're so sweet I could sprinkle you on a pastry and lick you all up," murmured Isabela. The pirate woman's warm breath gently tickled Merrill's ear, and the little elf gave an involuntary shudder.

"Everything will be fine, don't you worry," whispered her comforting voice. Merrill sadly glanced at the eluvian and was silent for a moment, before slowly nodding.

"That's my girl."

* * *

><p>She stayed at Merrill's for an hour after that, helping the elf clean up and telling another story that made Merrill look at her with those large, green eyes full of questions. After Merrill had finally gotten the details of the story straight, Isabela excused herself. The afternoon sun was already starting to creep towards the horizon, and she had still not made any progress on remembering her promise to Hawke.<p>

As the pirate left the alienage, the tiny hairs on the back of her neck began to stand on end, her intuition telling her something was wrong. The elves of the alienage that usually filled the streets avoided her, and were gathering at the alienage exit. She flattened herself against a wall and approached the corner to peek at the alienage entrance. Three guardsmen were inspecting each person that entered or left, and the crowd continued to build as the number of people allowed to pass trickled to a halt. Isabela bit her lower lip as she considered her options. Openly fighting the guardsmen was a losing proposition. She had no immediate wish to kill anyone, and when the guard captain knew where she lived, it made going on the run even more difficult. Sneaking through would be problematic, there were too many to easily slip by.

"I'm going to need a plan..." she said to herself as she scanned the crowd, looking for the right kind of people. She had an idea when she spotted a group of human Lowtown workers that had just finished loading a wagon near one of the shops and was about to get in line for the outgoing inspection. The crowd of elves pressed up against them. Isabela pushed her way through the crowd until she found her victim.

It was a poor young elf woman that Isabela decided on, with large blue eyes and a brown shawl wrapped around her shoulders. She looked about fearfully at the crowd, and pulled her shawl even more tightly about herself as the throng bumped and jostled her.

Isabela approached her and quietly whispered "I'm sorry about this," into her ear as she quickly drew a thin, sharp blade along the elf girl's shawl and cut the small ties holding the elf's shabby blouse together. The elf's eyes widened in surprise, and before she could react Isabela gave the woman a rough shove, sending her careening into the group of laborers. As the elven woman bumped into the men, her blouse fell to tatters. The elf woman looked down at her unclothed body and screamed as the nearby men stared in confusion.

"Look! Those humans are trying to rape her!" cried Isabela, as she ducked low in the crowd to avoid being noticed. The elven woman screamed again, as the nearby elves and men began to buzz angrily, like a swarm of bees preparing to fight intruding wasps. A scuffle broke out quickly, and escalated as the men and elves began a brawl that would have made the Hanged Man proud. Isabela worked her way to the edge of the crowd, and waited for the guardsmen to react.

After a few moments of escalation, the city guards were forced to intervene. As soon as they left their posts, Isabela slipped past them and into Lowtown proper. She opted to try to make it to her ship to lie low for a bit, but the entrance to the docks also had guardsmen set up in with a checkpoint. She hesitated. She likely wouldn't be able to pull the same trick twice, and should they be looking for her, they'd likely check the ship first. She debated going to Darktown, but there were even guardsmen positioned at the Darktown entrances. Worse yet, patrols of guardsmen continued to sweep the streets in addition to the checkpoints having been set up at the entrances and exits. After carefully dodging a third patrol, Isabela managed to sneak by, reaching the large winding staircase that led to Hightown.

The sun was low on the horizon when Isabela finally reached Hightown. As she finished climbing the stairs, she saw that the crowds had begun leaving the marketplace, and she managed to blend in with a group of giggling noblewomen and their maidservants, avoiding the patrolling guardsmen by moving with the group. As her small procession passed the crowd, Isabela stopped short when she saw two guardsmen standing by Hawke's estate door.

"Balls," she cursed to herself, thinking about where she could go to avoid the guardsmen. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a pair of the guards leave their post by Hawke's manor, and begin to follow her. "_Shit_," she silently cursed again, turning down an alley and separating from the group on their way past another guard checkpoint leading to the other nobles' estates. She could hear the clanking sound of metal-shod foot on stone behind her; she needed a quick exit and fast. She only needed to turn the corner and she'd be able to leave the alley and double back to Hawke's home. She trotted to the corner and turned, only to see another pair of guardsmen approaching from the other side. Desperately looking around for a place to hide, she found nothing.

She was trapped.

* * *

><p>"The guardsmen had her cornered, but kept their distance. She had not yet drawn her blades, but she did shrug her shoulders to reassure her that they were still strapped firmly to her back in preparation for the worst. The guardsmen had remained utterly silent since they managed to corner her in the alley, and it was maddening. She paced nervously back and forth, as they stood there, as implacable and stoic as four stone golems barring her way. She had tried offering money or favors to let her go, but she could tell that Aveline had trained these men and women, and was unable to even elicit a response. She idly wondered if they had been briefed on her by the captain.<p>

As she stopped to consider, she became aware of the sound of approaching footfalls. She firmly fixed her usual cocky grin on her face and leaned against the stone wall of the alley, crossing her ankles.

"My, I certainly wasn't expecting this," she greeted, as her visitor arrived.

"I need to speak with you," replied Aveline with a serious look on her face.

"You could have just asked me to stop by. No need to use your troops to corral me like a runaway horse," mocked Isabela.

"I need you to stay away from Hawke," Aveline said, looking down.

"_What_?"

"You heard me. Stay away from Hawke," commanded the captain.

Isabela bristled. "I don't see how that's any of your business, Messere Masculine," she said grimly. Aveline might as well have asked her to give up sailing or drinking.

"I thought it would be alright. You'd eventually hurt her, she'd break it off with you, then you'd go back to whoring yourself out and she'd find someone more suitable. I even entertained the thought you might really be able to change, maybe to even grow beyond that shallow, sordid existence of yours. However, after what you did last night, I cannot stand idly by and let you endanger her life, you blasted human mattress!" growled Aveline.

"What exactly did I do to get your knickers in such a twist, Lady Frigid Female?" demanded the pirate.

"You can't expect me to believe you don't remember," said Aveline carefully.

"I was drunk off of my ass last night. Hawke had brought a bottle of red Llomeryn whiskey, and she, Varric and I all partook," Isabela said with a smug smirk.

"You... what?" asked Aveline, disbelieving.

"I woke up this morning with a splitting headache and no knowledge of what I'd done last night. It certainly wasn't the first time it's happened," replied Isabela blandly.

"Maker's breath," swore Aveline softly.

"What did I do, Aveline?" demanded Isabela, the worry creeping into her voice.

Aveline looked at Isabela sharply. "Hawke is fighting Castillon right this moment because of what happened last night."

Isabela's eyes reflexively looked at the guards blocking her path. She did the mental math again to see whether she'd be able to give them the slip in such narrow quarters. If it had been two, she could easily slip out. Three was difficult, but manageable. Four were bad odds. Four plus Aveline and she may as well have hogtied herself. Unless...

A plan began to form in her mind.

"You're not going," Aveline grated, watching the pirate's eyes flick back and forth between the two groups of guards.

"The hell I'm not," retorted Isabela. "Last time I let Hawke fight for me, she nearly died. I am not about to let it happen again."

Aveline gave a small smile. "As I remember, you needed to be restrained by armed guards that time as well," she mocked.

"Why aren't you there?" demanded the pirate.

"Because Hawke made me promise not to be," said Aveline quietly.

Her words echoed in Isabela's mind. An awkward moment of silence passed.

"Tell me what happened last night, Aveline. Please."

* * *

><p>"I was out on patrol in Lowtown. There had been reports of increased bandit activity in the area, a new group calling themselves the Followers of She, so I had deployed every available man between Hightown and Lowtown to try to keep the peace. I received word of a disturbance in the alienage, so I was to lead a group of guardsmen to investigate. The missive had stated that magic was involved, so I prepared to leave for the alienage immediately in case the mage in question was Merrill. I have to do my best to keep the templars from her in such situations, should they have the same information. Before I was able to go, I received a second message - that a fight had broken out in Hightown between the Followers of She, and a group of slavers moving prisoners in the middle of the night.<p>

I could not readily abandon Merrill, so I sent my group of guardsmen ahead to Hightown. If the battle was as big as the message indicated, I would need to gather my guardsmen in the alienage to reinforce. I called every group I could to Hightown, and when I reached the alienage, I was stunned.

No less than twelve guardsmen were dead, injured or unconscious. Twenty three dead or incapacitated bandits were interspersed among the guardsmen. In the middle of the unconscious men were you and Hawke. You were clutching a bottle with some sort of burning red liquor, and Hawke had an arm around your shoulders. Both of you looked like you'd been soaking in ale all night, but my concern was for my men. We saved who we could but four guardsmen died that night. I had to notify their families this morning.

Hawke explained to me that there had been an ambush. It sounded like the same gang that was currently engaging my men in Hightown, so I turned to leave. Hawke insisted that you and she accompany me. I was hardly in a position to argue. I know how useful you and Hawke are in a fight, and I wasn't about to turn it down when the dozen guardsmen I had been counting on to reinforce were all incapacitated. We moved as quickly as your condition allowed. I wouldn't be surprised if you were sneaking nips of that stuff while I wasn't looking. At least you weren't trying to drag Hawke off into an alley for some terribly inappropriate purpose.

Don't give me that look. I know what you did in my office that one time.

When we arrived in Hightown, I could see that the battle had gone badly for all sides. My guardsmen had withdrawn, and set up a perimeter to minimize the damage. Donnic briefed me when we reached the battle site. The Followers of She had hoped to bolster their numbers by killing the slavers and taking their victims. The slavers had hired a mercenary company for security, and the mercenaries were much more than the Followers had bargained for. Neither was willing to stand down, and a bloody melee ensued. Subduing both sides would have been impossible with our numbers, so our best hope was simply to contain it and let them fight it out among themselves. It would likely result in the loss of many of the captives in the crossfire, but getting my men killed wouldn't have helped either. It was a horrible choice, and not one I made lightly.

Apparently, it was also one that Hawke was not willing to accept. I turned to issue some orders, and out of the corner of my eye I saw her tap you on the shoulder and the two of you leaped into the fray like Varric leaps after pastries. For a moment, my blood ran cold and I panicked. I yelled at Donnic not to let anyone else in, drew my sword and shield, and followed. The battle was like a grand melee, it was difficult to tell who was who. I heard an exploding sound, and I saw bodies go flying overhead. Strange as it might seem, that horrible sight actually raised my spirits. I knew that Hawke was still in there, doing what she does best. Not long after, a thick, billowing cloud of smoke erupted near the center of the battle. I know the type, I've seen you and Varric use those things to provide cover for us occasionally. Bolstered, I raised my shield and cleared a path through to the largest concentration of the captives through the men and women fighting and dying around me. I heard another explosion, and then Hawke was there by my side, urging the prisoners to move. We managed to escort most of them out to safety. As soon as they were clear, Hawke went back in for you. "

* * *

><p>"I lost sight of you two amid the combatants and the smoke. It took several minutes for the cloud to dissipate. I would have come in after you, but Donnic and the rest of the guardsmen pulled me back. When the fumes finally dispersed enough to see, it was only you and Hawke remaining standing and covered in blood. Somehow, that bottle you were carrying had managed to survive the battle, and you were tucking into it like an infant with her mother's milk."<p>

Isabela approached Aveline.

"I don't understand. What's this have to do with Castillon?" she asked.

"Hawke explained it to me earlier today. She found a letter on the leader of the mercenaries. They were Castillon's men. He may have sworn to leave you alone but he remains a dangerous slave trader. Hawke went after Castillon today, and she made me promise to keep you out of the fight," answered Aveline. "I knew I couldn't just invite you for tea or dangle a random phallus in front of you to distract you, so I increased security for the city, and some of the guardsmen were apprised of some of your outstanding warrants."

The pirate took a step nearer to Aveline. "What about the bruise on her cheek?"

Aveline sighed. "I don't know. When she came to meet with me this morning, she had it. She certainly didn't have it after the battle last night."

Isabela narrowed her eyes, and frowned. "Where is Hawke now?" she demanded.

"Castillon is here in Hightown, he purchased a manor house like Hawke's which also shares the tunnel system leading from the basement all the way to Darktown. There it is for all the good it will do you; you're staying put here until she comes back," replied the captain as she folded her arms.

"It's your fault he's here. He came here chasing you, and now he's started his slaving business here. It's all because of you," accused Aveline.

Isabela sighed. "I'm sorry, Aveline," she said, simply.

"You're sorry? I hardly expected that. For what?" asked Aveline, suspicious.

"For not enjoying this as much as I should." Isabela hooked one foot behind Aveline's ankle, then suddenly gave the guard captain a two-handed shove on the chest.

"Not bad," remarked Isabela, glancing at her fingers as Aveline stumbled backward over Isabela's foot, her back bumping into the wall behind her. The pirate smirked, and planted one foot on Aveline's knee, then used it as a step to place her other foot on Aveline's shoulder, before leaping up and using Aveline as a ladder to vault onto the top of the wall behind the shocked guardswoman. She leaped from the wall to the roof of the manor house nearby, waving as she ran.

Aveline gave a roar of frustration, then pointed and shouted "After her!" The guardsmen scrambled to try to follow the pirate as she sprinted along the rooftops, but their heavy plate armor proved too encumbering to let them climb the wall. They turned and trotted in Isabela's direction as quickly as they were able.

"Maker's breath, that woman..." sighed Aveline as she covered her forehead with her palm.

* * *

><p>Isabela made good time as she scampered along the shingled rooftops of Hightown. She made a mental note of how quickly she was able to move.<p>

"Those bandits who keep leaping down to assault us from the rooftops must have thought of this ages ago," she thought to herself.

After finding a suitable place to drop from her perch, she found the mansion that Aveline had mentioned. The front door was still slightly ajar, and she let herself in. The air was thick with magical energy, and the scent of burned flesh and charred wood permeated the air. She stepped carefully over the bodies of armed men and women. Some had been killed by blade, others by magic. Isabela even saw a few bodies pinned against walls and furniture by elaborate crossbow bolts. She heard the soft sounds of footfalls coming toward her, and quietly slid her blades out of their sheaths in preparation. A shadowy figure lurched from a doorway. Isabela leaped forward, blades extended, as the figure stepped into the lantern light.

It was Hawke.

Unable to stop her forward momentum, Isabela cast both daggers aside from her hands and instead barreled into the champion, knocking both of them over into a heap with a loud crash. When Isabela opened her eyes, her head lay against Hawke's belly, just below the breastplate, and both arms were wrapped around the Champion's hips. She looked up at her lover, whose bright eyes looked back full of mirth and more than a hint of mischief. Hawke's arms, shoulders, neck and face were covered in small cuts. They weren't bleeding badly, but they looked painful. Isabela's gaze lingered again on the large purple bruise on the Champion's right cheek. Hawke reached down and gently stroked Isabela's hair with one hand.

"I didn't think Aveline would be able to keep you long," Hawke murmured.

"You're hurt!" accused Isabela.

"You should see the other guy," smiled Hawke. "I've already sent the others home. Varric sends his regards."

"I take it that my presence is no longer needed then?" sniffed Isabela.

"Your presence is always needed, Isabela" whispered Hawke. Isabela cracked a smile.

The pirate rose from the tangle, and extended a hand to the sitting Champion. Hawke gratefully accepted the hand and Isabela pulled her to a standing position. She stumbled forward a bit, causing Isabela to grab hold with both hands to steady her. The Rivaini woman slipped her Ferelden lover's arm around her shoulders, and helped support the Champion's weight.

"Come on, let's get you home," declared Isabela. As the pair exited the manor, Aveline trotted up to meet them, trailed by four helmeted guardsmen.

"I'm sorry, Hawke. She's a slippery one," apologized the guard captain.

"I'm well aware," said Hawke wryly. Isabela playfully nudged Hawke in the ribs with her elbow. "It's fine. Castillon's been taken care of, and the slaves have been freed."

"And why didn't you take me along?" asked Isabela huffily.

"I thought you'd still be hung over. You looked awful this morning."

Aveline's eyes widened. "You knew? Then... why did you send me after her?"

Hawke laughed, a rich musical sound. "I couldn't have the templars spotting the guard captain raiding a nobleman's house. They've got enough reason to believe you overstep your authority as Guard Captain."

"But..."

"Aveline, I told you earlier this morning. 'Please keep Isabela from getting into trouble today. She did some things last night she may regret, and I need to keep her out of it when I go after Castillon today.'"

Aveline looked at Hawke helplessly, and finally slumped her shoulders. "I should have been there with you," she finally said.

"I'm sorry, Aveline. I promise you'll be at my side the next time we face certain danger," promised Hawke. Isabela nudged her in the ribs again, harder this time. "Right next to Isabela," added Hawke.

"See that I am," said Aveline, mollified.

As the captain left with her guardsmen, the champion and the pirate made their way back to Hawke's estate. Isabela retrieved a basin of fresh water, some bandages, and a clean towel, while Hawke stripped her armor off and sat on the bed. The pirate knelt behind her lover on the bed, and gently washed Hawke's back and shoulders with the wet towel. Hawke hissed quietly as the cool cloth came into contact with each cut. Isabela tapped her on the shoulder playfully.

"The mighty Champion, reacting to some small cuts and scrapes. What will people say?" the pirate teased.

"I never realized you could be so domestic," said Hawke between biting her lower lip in reaction to the sting of her cuts.

"I've done many things as captain of a ship. Sometimes you need to sew a man's innards back into his body, and sometimes you need to calm the crew in the face of a giant storm. There's a lot to being captain on a ship," said Isabela, as she continued to dab at the small gashes with her towel.

"For example, you probably know you can use alcohol to disinfect a wound. But did you know that saliva can also be very good at it?" she added. Isabela leaned down and gently ran her pink tongue over one of the smaller cuts. Hawke shivered at the touch.

"Most of the time, it's hard to do it. We don't have all that much saliva in our mouths, and abrasions can be quite large," continued the dusky woman, pausing to slowly lick another of Hawke's lacerations.

"I... see," gasped Hawke.

Isabela licked a larger gash harder, applying surprising pressure with her long, pink tongue. Her heart sped up, feeling Hawke's nearness. She breathed gently on Hawke's bare back, and rested her ear against it, listening to her lover's rapid heartbeat. Quietly, she murmured, "Don't ever make me promise not to be with you again."

Hawke turned to look at her. Pink spots of color had appeared on her cheeks, but her expression was quizzical. "I didn't make you promise that," she said, confused. "I only told Aveline to keep you busy because I wanted her out of the area, not you."

Isabela cocked her head to one side. "But... if that wasn't the promise, then what was?" asked the pirate.

"You really don't remember?" asked Hawke, smirking.

"I don't remember much of anything from last night."

"Here, get some of those bandages on me before I catch a chill, and I will tell you what I remember."

* * *

><p>"Last night, after I tucked you into bed at the Hanged Man, I went home to clean up the little gift you gave me. Varric told me he filled you in on what happened up to that point. I will admit, there's never a dull night when you're around. Ow! Not so tight!<p>

In any case, the evening had ended a bit earlier than I expected. I had no idea that the difference in color affected Llomeryn Whiskey that much. Thankfully, I don't think I drank too much of it. I somehow expected to wake up in a ditch with you next to me, and without any trousers. After I arrived at home, I realized that I still had a packet of the Ambrosia seeds that Merrill wanted. Something about a channeling ointment or something. Since I found myself with an abundance of spare time, I decided to deliver them to her.

I made my way back down to Lowtown, and entered the alienage, when I spied what looked like a group of bandits preparing an ambush. A patrol of Aveline's guards was moving through the streets near the Vhena'dal tree, and the bandits were preparing to attack. I was going to shout a warning, when I heard several loud explosion sounds, one after another. The guards turned to look, the bandits turned to look, and even I turned to look. It seemed that something had happened in Merrill's home. I saw fire and smoke coming from the windows, which quickly were put out. I looked back at the bandits, but they had moved, and were using the distraction to attack the guardsmen in their confusion.

I moved as quickly as I could, and tried to shout warnings. Aveline's guardsmen were well-trained, but the bandits outnumbered them. I jumped into the battle and did what I could, laying into one after another. And then you were there. You started laying into the thugs like a whirlwind of blades. When you move like that, it takes my breath away. The battle was a bit of a blur, but when it ended, it was just us left standing. Perhaps it was the Llomeryn Whiskey talking, or perhaps just the flush of adrenaline, but I must admit, I wanted to kiss you so badly when it was over that I positively ached for it. Isabela, what are you... No, that doesn't have a cut on it there... Stop, or I won't finish the story! Ahem. Aveline's timing was, as always, impeccable. She arrived shortly after, and told us that she needed our help in Hightown, so after tending to the wounded guardsmen, we went with her.

When we arrived at the site of the battle, Aveline's men had blocked off the area. It was pretty clear that the fight wasn't going to be easy to deal with, but when I saw the slaves behind the slavers, I got your attention and we both went into the battle. Aveline followed shortly, and we managed to fight our way to the slaves and free them. I think we managed to rescue most of them. You laid down a smoke bomb to cover us and generate more confusion. After we managed to get the slaves out, we went back in to kill or subdue the remaining bandits and slavers. Between us and the smoke cover, it went fairly easily. I'm not sure how, but you even managed to maintain the bottle throughout all this. You toasted our victory and drank the last of the red whiskey. Aveline's guardsmen cleaned up and the two of us went home.

We walked home arm in arm, and I think the whiskey was starting to kick in. I suppose that after the fight, when the rush of blood in your veins dies down, you slowed down some. I just remember laughing with you about something funny, when I said how sorry I was that I hadn't gotten to see you dance properly. You gave me a warm hug, and whispered in my ear, promising me that you'd dance for me."

* * *

><p>"Shortly after that, we arrived at home . I set you down on one of the sofas to rest while I prepared the bed. When I returned, you had fallen asleep," said Hawke, as she took one of Isabela's hands.<p>

"You looked so beautiful sleeping there that I couldn't bear to wake you. Instead, I carried you to bed, stripped you, and tucked you in for the second time that night," she concluded.

"So that was my promise, was it?" smiled Isabela. She sighed. "Such an interesting night, and I can barely remember any of it. And there wasn't even any sex!" she lamented. She looked up at Hawke's face, and focused her gaze on the mottled bruise on the Champion's right cheek. The pirate leaned in close to Hawke's face and gently kissed the bruised cheek.

"And where did you manage to get this awful bruise?" whispered Isabela into Hawke's reddening ear, before lightly nipping the earlobe with her teeth. Hawke shuddered and blushed.

"I'd rather not say," she stammered.

"After all we've been through last night and today, you'll really leave me so... curious?" she whispered and continued to lick and nibble at Hawke's ear.

"You gave it to me," moaned Hawke. Isabela immediately drew back.

"I _what_?" she demanded.

Hawke looked embarrassed, as her blush grew. "When I was taking your underthings off, you... struggled. When I managed to nick your knickers, you kicked me."

Isabela's eyes widened and she gasped. "Hawke, I'm so sorry... I can't believe that I'd have-" she began, before Hawke cut her off by placing one hand over her lips.

"It's alright, I forgive you. When you did it, you shouted something while in your sleep," said Hawke, gently.

Isabela furrowed her brow, and she asked "mm hmm hmm mmm?" through Hawke's palm.

"You shouted 'Don't touch me, I've got someone already!' and then kicked me with all your might," Hawke said as she withdrew her hand from the pirate's lips.

A faint blush crept up Isabela's cheeks, as she turned away. "I said that?" she asked, quietly.

Hawke nodded to her, with a soft smile on her face. "You said that," she agreed.

"_Balls_," cursed Isabela, unable to fight the smile off from her own face. She coughed.

"Clearly the lack of sex lately has been affecting me in strange ways," she declared. She reached down and undid one of the ties to her corset. She gently tugged at the string, unlacing her tunic. She gazed at Hawke with a hungry look in her eyes.

"Now, Serah Hawke... you must take responsibility for this. What do you plan on doing to remedy this problem?" she teased as she began crawling toward her lover.

"I'm sure we'll think of something."

_finis_.

BONUS:

Hawke sat as still as a statue, staring at Isabela. Her mouth was dry, her grip leaden, and her heart pounded in her chest. Isabela strutted up to her and straddled the frozen Champion's lap. As the pirate stared into Hawke's eyes, she murmured, "And that's how I dance the _sar-sara_."

Hawke swallowed hard, and managed to nod her approval. Isabela made no move to rise from her position. She smiled wickedly. "Now allow me show you another dance I learned in Antiva. It's called the _regazo-baila_. I'm sure you'll like it," she said cheerfully. She gently ground her hips back and forth, pressing her marvelous body against Hawke's, before quietly whispering to her victim, "it means _lap dance_."

* * *

><p><em>Author's Note: The spring of inspiration continues to gush forth. I was actually kicking ideas around with some of my pre-readers for a totally different story when this just kind of appeared and begged to write itself. I'm sure you can see certain influences in the type of tale, though I am not as comedically endowed as the writers of "Dude, Where's my Car?" and "The Hangover". If you wish to be a pre-reader, please e-mail me at hoorayforicecream(at)yahoo(dot)com. If you're on the Bioware Social Network, I've got a group for story discussion where you can talk about ideas and the like. We have cupcakes! And unlimited thanks to all of my pre-readers. Without you, these stories would never be possible.<em>

_Some of the more observant folks out there may have noticed that the description of Hawke's injuries and Isabela tending them may seem familiar. This is no accident, I was inspired for that particular scene by the art of Bag of Limbs (bagoflimbs(dot)deviantart(dot)com)._

_Also, I'd like to reach out to any fan artists out there. Are any of you willing to do some art for Snacking? I'd totally love to trade stories for art. There's such a great Dragon Age art community out there, and I would love to have some art to help convey what I've only been able to with words. If you're interested, please please please e-mail me._

_If you have a story idea you'd like me to run with, feel free to e-mail it to me as well. I can't guarantee I will be able to do it, but I will definitely try to work it in if I can._

_Thanks for reading. Until next time._


	7. Appetizer

Appetizer

Isabela lay waiting in the underbrush. She breathed very slowly, moving as little as possible. The cool evening air tickled her skin, but she paid it no mind. The area was quiet; the evening insects played a muted symphony of sounds while she waited. She saw movement out of the corner of her eye, and she slowly turned her head to focus on it. Her victim stepped carefully through the underbrush, tilting its head back and forth. The creature moved cautiously, having learned the value of patience. It spent several moments, glancing to and fro, before finally relaxing and turning away from the pirate lying in wait. It saw the flashing blade she hurled at it too late; even its highly evolved reflexes were insufficient to dodge Isabela's dagger as the short, curved blade buried itself into its breast. The pheasant gave a rasping gasp and expired. Isabela could barely contain her glee as she grabbed it by the legs and cleaned it. She quickly plucked the excess feathers and gutted the creature, preparing it for an evening meal. Once her field dressing was complete, she cut a branch from a nearby tree and tied the bird to one end by the legs. She hoisted it over one shoulder and whistled as she trotted back to camp.

* * *

><p>As she came upon the small campsite, the smells of roasting vegetables and potatoes greeted her nostrils, and the cheery fire provided a bit of comfort. She waved to the group as she returned and sat down by the fire. Hawke smiled warmly and waved from where she knelt by the campfire, tending the food. Merrill looked enthusiastically at the bird.<p>

"Isabela, you're always so good at hunting that I could believe you were part Dalish!" she giggled.

Varric nodded to her as he carried an armload of firewood to the campfire. He looked on greedily as Isabela cut three springy branches from a nearby sapling, and carved one into a stake. She impaled the bird on the spit and touched Hawke lightly on the shoulder. The Champion took the bird and set it over the fire, turning it occasionally to ensure that the melting fats and juices remained in the bird and did not drip into the flames. Varric sat down next to Isabela, warming himself by the crackling flames. Soon, the meal was ready to eat.

When Hawke finished cooking supper, she began cleaning the cookware while encouraging the others to begin.

As Merrill nibbled on a roasted pepper, she asked, "Isabela, why is it you always seem to find a pheasant or a partridge, or some kind of bird whenever we have to camp overnight here on the Wounded Coast?"

"I've been wondering that myself, Rivaini," nodded Varric. "Not that I'm complaining, mind you. Fresh meat is always tastier than jerky," he added.

Isabela's only answer was a smile that absolutely oozed smugness. The pirate held up one hand to her two companions as she glanced at Hawke . She waited until both of the Champion's hands were covered in soapy water before pulling out her small knife and slicing off one of the roasted pheasant's legs. With the leg in hand, she walked over to her lover and knelt down. There was a brief exchange between the two that the elf and dwarf could not make out, and they craned their necks to try to pick up what the pair were saying. Hawke sighed and opened her mouth wide, and Isabela happily placed the meaty end of the pheasant leg between the champion's teeth. Hawke bit down and resumed scrubbing while Isabela practically skipped back to the campfire and reseated herself.

"Oh that was nice of you, Isabela," chirped Merrill. Isabela gave a small smile and pointed in Hawke's direction. Varric's eyes followed Isabela's pointing digit, curious as to what she was doing, and his eyes widened in shock.

Hawke was eating the pheasant leg without using her hands at all. She expertly held it in place with her tongue, while carefully stripping the meat from the bones with her teeth, and then sucked down the pieces. The Champion alternated back and forth, using her long, pink tongue to pull the loose pieces of flesh from the bone as she worked her jaw back and forth to loosen the tighter bits on it. Varric sat unmoving, his roast potato all but forgotten, as he stared at the sight before him. Suddenly, Hawke frowned. She looked down at what appeared to be a particularly tough stain and scrubbed harder, while she rolled the bone in her mouth with her tongue toward her other cheek to reach an uneaten portion of meat. Finally, the stain came out of the small pot and Hawke happily stood up and walked back to the rest of the group. The bone in her mouth danced back and forth merrily as she moved until Hawke sat down next to Isabela.

The pirate grinned at the Champion and asked a single question: "Finished?"

Hawke nodded, and Isabela plucked the bone from Hawke's mouth. The pirate held it up for her companions to examine. Every last bit of meat, tendon and skin had been completely stripped from the bone. It was as smooth and as dry as a fossil. The dwarf coughed uncomfortably. Hawke looked embarrassed.

"It's so nice that you care for each other so well," bubbled Merrill happily. The cheerful elf clapped her hands and continued, "Hawke, you eat as wonderfully as you cook!"

"I... er... ah..." stammered Varric, for once at a loss for words.

"I never get tired of watching that," murmured Isabela, poking Varric in the ribs.

"Isabela? What have you been telling them?" The Champion flushed, small spots of color blooming on her cheeks.

"Nothing, Hawke. Seconds?" Isabela laughed as she cut the second leg from the bird. With a resigned sigh and a smile on her face, Hawke closed her eyes and opened her mouth again.

_finis_

* * *

><p>BONUS:<p>

Later that night, after the food had been eaten and the things put away, Isabela roused herself from sleep and slowly moved toward the fire, preparing to take her shift on the watch that night. Varric was snoring softly in his bedroll, and Merrill slept curled up in a ball like a kitten, her leg twitching every so often. Isabela giggled to herself at the sight. She quietly approached Hawke from behind, and the Champion scooted over a bit on the fallen log to make room for her replacement. Isabela sat next to her, silently wrapping one arm around the Champion. Hawke leaned against her lover, exhaling gently, and enjoying the feeling of warmth on her side.

"Did you really have to tell them about my eating habits?" asked Hawke quietly.

"They did ask," murmured Isabela. "And you are quite talented," she added with a yawn.

"You know, I was thinking..." began Hawke.

"Hmmmm?" murmured Isabela sleepily.

Hawke giggled and squeezed her a little tighter. "I was thinking that when we get home tomorrow, I'm going to make candied apples. Good night, Isabela."

It took a moment for Hawke's words to register in her foggy brain. When they finally did, Isabela's eyes shot open and all traces of sleep vanished. She looked down at Hawke, who had fallen fast asleep in her arms.

"But... but... " she stammered. She looked at the sleeping Champion helplessly.

"Bloody tease," cursed the pirate silently as she settled in for a long, sleepless night.

_Author's Note: A quick one this time. I had a thought, put it to pen, and it bubbled forth like water from a mountain spring. I hope you found it refreshing. Ages ago, I was actually surprised when I found out that not everyone could do this trick. I can do it as well. It makes for a fun conversation starter at dinners.  
><em>

_As always, massive thanks to my faithful pre-readers. Next time: The Past, the present... and maybe the future? _


	8. Amuse bouche

Amuse-bouche , part 1

Isabela tipped the tankard upward. The brown, frothy liquid flowed past her teeth, tongue and throat as her neck muscles contracted and pushed the fluid toward her belly. She swallowed, and set the mug down.

"Alright, everyone settle down. I suppose you're all wondering why I called you here," began Varric. The people gathered around the table glanced back and forth. Aveline folded her arms and leaned back in her chair.

Sebastian placed his wineglass down on the table and said, "Why don't ye tell us, Varric? And why ye didn'ae invite Hawke along to this little get together."

Varric steepled his fingers as he looked from face to face. "Hawke is the reason we're all here. We're each indebted to her in some way or other for the past several years, and feastday is coming up. I wanted to suitably thank her. I can take care of the details for the celebration here at the Hanged Man, but I wanted to encourage each of you to bring a special gift for her at the very least. We all owe it to her."

The companions debated the details of the Feastday celebration, until they began discussing gifts. Aveline planned on giving some special liquor she had purchased while in Orlais with her husband. Sebastian chose a brand new knife, etched with verses from the Chant of Light along the blade. With each gift description, Isabela's smug smile grew, until it was her turn.

Isabela laughed out loud and looked extremely pleased with herself.

Fenris raised an eyebrow. Aveline covered her forehead with one gauntleted palm. Sebastian looked uncomfortable, Varric stared at his mug, and Anders cleared his throat. But it was Merrill who spoke up.

As Isabela lifted her tankard, still with a grin on her face, the little elf asked, "Were you planning on giving Hawke sex as your gift, Isabela?" Several pairs of eyes turned to the elf girl. She flushed and defensively said, "What? I might not often recognize dirty things, but even a blind halla trapped in a snowstorm could see that one coming."

Isabela choked on her ale. She coughed loudly and tapped her chest with a fist to try to help clear up her burning gullet.

"It doesn't seem very thoughtful," observed Merrill.

The pirate finished coughing and cleared her throat. She directed a hurt look at Merrill and asked, "Why not?"

"Sleeping with you certainly doesn't _seem_ very special," remarked Anders wryly.

"He's right, Rivaini. That ledger is pretty full," added Varric.

Isabela was indignant. "I'll have you all know that I've not been with anyone else since I returned!"

Sebastian looked thoughtful. "What was it ye said to me before? 'All night, every night,' was it? That didn'ae sound very special to me."

"Are you saying that it will somehow be special when you give it?" Fenris spoke in a flat voice.

"Yes, of course!" The pirate sputtered.

"That would imply that you don't regularly do your best in such endeavors," reasoned Fenris, still in the same flat voice.

"No, of course I do my best-" she started, flustered.

Aveline had a wicked smirk on her face. She relished the words as she clearly and carefully said, "Are you saying your best is still a bad performance?"

"What? No!" The pirate vehemently denied it.

Aveline continued blithely, "Then how will it be special? Are you purposely going to underperform then?"

Isabela opened her mouth, but no words came out.

"It is possible she means to make it special another way," suggested Fenris. "Perhaps she means that Hawke is the one that performs badly," he mused.

"Hawke? Don't be ridiculous, the woman could pick locks with that tongue of hers," scoffed the pirate, folding her arms and sniffing indignantly. An awkward silence settled into the room. Anders cleared his throat again uncomfortably.

"I'm sure Hawke's tongue is marvelously raspy," said Merrill, finally breaking the silence with a smile. "Shall we discuss the other arrangements, Varric?"

Isabela shot the elf girl a grateful glance as the discussion moved on to liquor.

* * *

><p>Isabela sat at her table, contemplating the bottom of her cup. Oddly, the cup itself was still quite full. She had been staring at the bottom through the amber liquid most of the evening, and each time she thought about it, she always ended up where she started. She sighed again.<p>

"This brooding does not suit you."

She looked up. The lanky elf stood by her table, as impassive as a boulder.

"I do not pretend to know what goes on between you and Hawke. She cares for you, and I for her. By extension, I feel I should say something."

"Oh, go away," sniffed Isabela irritably into her ale. She lifted the cup and took a deep drink.

"I intend to do exactly that after I have said my piece. Hawke is special. I intend to give her something that is representative of our relationship. You should do the same."

"But sex _is_ our relationship!" The pirate retorted grumpily.

"I would no more believe that than I would believe you would remain faithful to Hawke since your return."

Isabela angrily took another drink. Fenris continued to stand silently.

"What do you want?" She demanded.

"I think you misunderstand my intent. You have more skill than you give yourself credit for. Do not lose sight of that." With that, he turned and silently left.

She sighed and drained the rest of her tankard, mulling over her thoughts carefully.

* * *

><p>Isabela stretched as best she could from her position in bed. She tried her best not to disturb the Champion who was currently using her naked body as a giant pillow.<p>

"Hawke," called the pirate gently, stroking Hawke's hair. "Are you still awake?"

"What is it?" The Champion quietly moaned from the hollow of Isabela's neck. The pirate ran her hand from Hawke's upper arm down her body, gently stroking the Champion's hip and thigh.

Isabela smiled, and softly said, "Do you ever have any selfish wishes?"

Hawke gave a barely audible giggle. "All the time," she mumbled into Isabela's neck. "I think I'm having one right now."

Isabela chuckled and gave her lover a small squeeze. "You goose. You want to do it again, is that it?"

"I don't think I could take another go. I'm starting to get sore as it is," confessed the Champion.

"You loved every moment of it," Isabela jokingly accused.

"I did," admitted Hawke.

"Tell me about your selfish dream," murmured Isabela into Hawke's ear.

"I just wish that we could go out and hunt for treasure together like we used to... Before the mages and templars and all that stupidity," said Hawke sleepily.

As Hawke drifted off into peaceful slumber, the wheels in Isabela's head began to turn. The pirate gently kissed her Champion on the forehead and settled back to think.

* * *

><p>The next morning, Hawke woke to an empty bed. This was not an unusual occurrence, though it had become rarer as of late. What was strange, however, was that the pirate's clothes and personal effects were still in the corner of the room where they had been flung the night before. Hawke yawned as she reached for her robe, idly wondering where Isabela had gone, when her fingers closed on empty air. The hook she had hung her robe on was empty.<p>

"Really, Isabela?" The champion mused to herself, as she opened her wardrobe to look for something to wear. She glanced at Isabela's clothes a second time and grinned. She skipped over to the tunic and corset and picked them up. She stood in front of the mirror, holding the outfit in front of her naked body and examined it with a practiced eye.

Dropping the tunic over her head, she laced it up, and then added the corset. She laced the bodice carefully, and looked at her reflection. It was a decent look on her, and she particularly liked the way the outfit accentuated her breasts. While not quite as large as Isabela's, they were still pleasantly rounded, and she only had to pull the ties on the tunic a little tighter than the pirate to achieve a similar effect. She cupped her breasts, thinking about the size difference. It wasn't that large a difference, was it? She stood up a bit straighter, and noticed that it did make things look more appealing.

Eschewing the boots, Hawke scampered down the stairs to find Isabela. Surprisingly, she found the pirate neither in the bath, nor the kitchen, but in the library. Isabela was sitting in a comfortable chair, with her legs crossed and a book opened in her lap. She seemed so focused on the page before her that Hawke couldn't help but try to surprise her. Hawke quietly snuck forward, and had just taken a deep breath to say something clever, when the pirate looked directly at her and grinned.

"Oh look who's here! Time to change the locks again," said Isabela with a twinkle in her eye.

"I knocked this time. Bodahn let me in," countered Hawke, putting hands to her hips.

Isabela arched her back and the robe fell open. Evidently, the pirate had not bothered to tie the belt at all, nor wear anything underneath. Her grin grew even more wicked as she noted Hawke's reaction. "So what can the Champion of Kirkwall do for her lusty pirate lover?"

Not to be outdone, Hawke thrust her chest out a bit too. She silently cheered when Isabela's gaze dropped several inches from her eyes to her chest. "I came here hoping to find someone worthy of a... duel," breathed Hawke.

Isabela bent one corner of the page to keep her place, closed the book, and stood up. She stepped closer to Hawke, close enough that the two could feel the others' body heat.

"You know I never shy from a duel," whispered Isabela. "What are the terms?"

"You know what they are," breathed Hawke.

They stared at each other for several tense moments, their eyes challenging each other. Isabela's amber orbs promised a playful, tempestuous romp. Hawke saw freedom, adventure and excitement in those marvelous windows to the pirate's soul. Her breathing quickened and her hands trembled.

Isabela stared into Hawke's dark pupils framed by her bright blue irises, and she saw the Champion's inner fire, smoldering, consuming, ravenous, and barely restrained. The pirate noticed the palpable change in the air, the heat radiating from the Champion's skin, and the ragged breaths that the woman before her was taking in. She fought valiantly to maintain her position, but it would take just one tiny little thing for the levee to break and the emotions to overwhelm her completely.

Hawke licked her lips. Her long, pink tongue slowly snaked across her upper lip, glistening with saliva. As her tongue returned to the confines of her mouth, she inhaled audibly.

Something inside Isabela snapped. She flung her arms around Hawke, desperately pulling the Champion in for a kiss so hard that it threatened to bruise her lips. Still unsatisfied, she thrust her tongue deep into Hawke's mouth, searching for the other woman's tongue that had risen to dance with the intruder.

Isabela stepped into the kiss, pressing Hawke backward until she bumped into the table. They kissed for moments more, leaning against the hard edge of the large countertop. The pirate slid her hands down the Champion's back and squeezed Hawke's buttocks briefly, before hefting Hawke up to a sitting position on the tabletop. They finally broke the kiss, panting for air.

"No underwear?" Isabela raised an eyebrow.

"I find it restricts my movement," smiled Hawke.

Isabela gently pushed Hawke down onto the table. "It appears I have you right where I want you," the dark-skinned woman smirked.

Hawke reached up and grabbed hold of both sides of the robe's collar and hauled Isabela closer. "You know that duels are a pirate's specialty," Hawke murmured mockingly as she wrapped her legs around the pirate's hips.

"Perhaps... But you know that the Champion always comes through in the end," said Isabela with a smirk before she silenced Hawke with another deep kiss.

* * *

><p>For the second time that day, Hawke woke in an empty bed. She blinked several times and yawned, stretching languidly in her nakedness. As she finished her stretch, she felt the bed shift as a rather heavy weight landed next to her. She blinked, and looked to her left. Isabela, properly clothed this time, leaned against her and offered an apple. It had a bite freshly taken out of it. Hawke glanced at the pirate.<p>

"I had to check to make sure it was ripe," admitted Isabela. "I wouldn't give you bad fruit, you know."

Hawke chuckled and took the apple, running her tongue along the missing portion to lick out any juice before taking a bite herself. As Hawke chewed, Isabela stood and busied herself in Hawke's wardrobe.

"Come on, there's an important matter that requires your presence today," announced Isabela as she pulled out Hawke's traveling clothes and armor, placing them in a small pile next to where Hawke sat eating her apple. She glanced back over her shoulder at her naked lover, and pursed her lips. She opened the underwear drawer and began searching.

" I know I saw the right pair in here somewhere," muttered Isabela as she began tossing undergarments over her shoulder. Each landed in a random spot on the floor or bed. Hawke settled back on her elbows as she watched Isabela rummage about her personal belongings. She had long since learned to leave the pirate be when searching for treasure in the Champion's things.

"Ah, here they are," smiled Isabela as she found what she was looking for. She casually tossed something over one shoulder, this one actually landing on Hawke's belly. Hawke silently lifted the strapless light blue brassiere and put it on. Isabela turned, displaying a powder blue thong made of Orlesian silk between her hands.

"Every time I let you dress me, you make me wear one of these," complained Hawke.

"Hush, you should thank me for being so thoughtful," chided Isabela. "Now lift them up."

Hawke obediently raised both of her feet into the air, and Isabela took a moment to admire the Champion in the position. Hawke cleared her throat irritably, and Isabela slid the underwear up Hawke's legs and into position.

"Must you do this every time? You make me feel like a schoolgirl getting dressed for school," muttered Hawke.

"Now there's a thought... Naughty little schoolgirl Hawke needs a spanking from stern Chantry sister Isabela," mused the pirate. "There will be time for fun later, I suppose. Let's go, the others should be waiting for us."

"What was it you said needed the Champion's attention this time?" Hawke's voice was muffled as she pulled her tunic over her head.

"Nothing requires the _Champion_ today, Hawke. I said it required you," smirked the pirate. Hawke slid her feet into her leggings, and hopped up and down to help pull the tight clothing into place.

As she strapped on the rest of her gear, she asked, "Then what is it we're after?"

"Our target is an artifact of a bygone era. It is called the Obsidian Compass of Desiderio du Cuore. The man was a brutal pirate who had an enchanted compass that was said to lead him to any treasure he wanted. Think of it, Hawke!" Isabela grinned excitedly.

"We're going on a... treasure hunt?" asked the Champion, a bit confused.

"Yes, we're going on a treasure hunt," agreed Isabela. "Come. Lady man-hands and Varric are waiting for us at the gate. I tried to dissuade her, but she just grunted and said that you owed her from last time."

"I suppose she is right about that," admitted Hawke sheepishly. Isabela took one of Hawke's arms and tugged her along.

"Let's go. I've got a good feeling about this. The location of du Cuore's tomb is somewhere along the Wounded Coast."

* * *

><p>"Lady Oslo has invited me to another dinner party next week," sighed Hawke as they walked along the cliffside. "You'll come with me, won't you? Please?"<p>

"You know I hate those stuffy old Hightown parties," complained Isabela, arm in arm with Hawke. "They're so dreadfully _dull_."

"I hear they're serving those little Tevinter egg dishes you like," tempted Hawke. "And you always come away from those events with a new ring or two," she added.

"If I go, you have to let me borrow the blue dress," said Isabela. "The one with the ruffles."

"Isabela, if you come with me next week, you may have the blue dress," agreed Hawke. "The usual conditions apply."

Aveline sighed. "Varric, did Donnic and I ever sound like that?" she asked.

"I don't think you two were quite _that_ cloying," replied Varric. "If I didn't know the sort of destruction those two could cause, it would probably give me toothaches."

"And just what is _that_ supposed to mean?" Isabela suddenly asked indignantly. She loomed over the dwarf.

"What, Rivaini? You and Hawke act like a couple of newlyweds," he said, raising his hands in a warding gesture.

"We do _not_!" shouted the pirate. Her face flushed, though Varric wasn't sure whether it was from embarrassment or anger. Perhaps it was both.

"Oh come off it, whore. Any fool can see you two are absolutely _besotted_ with each other," said Aveline dryly.

"It's not like that! We just enjoy each other in bed. Wildly, passionately, and _often_. That's all," Isabela declared firmly.

Varric raised an eyebrow.

"Isabela-," began Hawke. Isabela cut her off.

"Oh no, not you too! So help me, if anyone breathes another word about this, I swear I will leap off this very cliff." The pirate glared balefully at each of her companions.

"Does this mean that next week at Lady Oslo's is off the table?" Hawke asked sheepishly. Isabela frowned and strode purposefully toward Hawke. The Champion put her hands up, but Isabela kept her pace, and brushed by, not slowing her step. She reached the edge of the cliff and paused, giving Hawke a small wink.

"Isabela?" Hawke looked concerned.

She gave a wan smile, then leaped gracefully over the edge of the cliffside. Aveline, Varric and Hawke were all frozen in place for a moment, when seconds later they heard the telltale sound of Isabela splashing into the water. The noise jolted them from their stupor. Hawke was the first to react, rushing to the edge of the cliff. She quickly looked at Varric, then at Aveline. Aveline looked down at her heavy plate armor, then looked at Varric.

"Don't you look at me like that. I may not like it underground, but I am also deathly allergic to falling off of cliffs," he firmly said, crossing his arms. He looked toward the Champion, and said, "Hawke, what do you want to... do?"

Hawke had vanished. A few seconds later, the dwarf heard a second splash below. He hefted Bianca, and looked to Aveline. "I shouldn't be surprised. Come on, we'd best find a way down there before they drown."

* * *

><p>Isabela broke the surface of the water after her dive. She looked at the rocks she had cleared with a satisfied smile on her face. She hadn't done a cliff dive in a while, and was glad that she still had it. She had been concerned recently that her relationship with Hawke had made her soft. She looked back and forth a bit, and spotted a cave entrance. She swam with a powerful crawl that parted the water quickly, and she entered the cave. She paused a moment to catch her breath and wring her wet clothes out. She peered into the darkness, willing her eyes to adjust faster. The cave appeared to continue into the cliffside, and with the tide starting to come in Isabela realized she couldn't stay where she was without a pair of gills. She gathered herself and moved forward, keeping one hand along the rock wall to keep from getting turned around in the darkness. As she walked, her friends' words echoed in her mind.<p>

_"Any fool can see you two are absolutely besotted with each other."_

Now that she was alone and with nothing to occupy it, she mulled over the statement...

* * *

><p>" ...don't come running to me next time you pick up one of these diseases," complained Anders as he waved his hand in an arcane pattern over her middle. The burning sensation in her nether regions faded and vanished.<p>

"Isn't that the _point_ of magic?" The pirate retorted, touching her belly with her fingertips.

"The Red Ache is no small matter, Isabela. You're lucky that the magic worked at all, the disease is usually quite magic resistant."

"I don't want to know," Hawke said with finality, as she entered the clinic. Isabela looked the woman over, lingering on her firm breasts, slim hips and rounded buttocks. She gave a sultry smile, unpleasant thoughts completely forgotten.

"When will you come see me again, Hawke? You still haven't collected the kiss I promised for helping me," she teased as she brushed by the Ferelden. Hawke smiled and moved on to speak to Anders. Isabela mentally made a note to go and visit the woman at her new estate. She had proven to be a lot of fun to be around in the three years they had known each other, and her flirtations were definitely reciprocated, if a bit muted in their intensity. Still, there was also that delicious dish of a lanky elf that hung around the Ferelden woman as well. Isabela smiled at the thought of enjoying both delectable treats as she practically skipped back to the Hanged Man. A pocket full of coin from their latest adventure, a clean bill of health, and thoughts of wanton pleasure danced through her mind. What more could she ask for?

She had just entered the Hanged Man and began to head for the bar, when a voice interrupted her reverie.

"Isabela, my angel. I was wondering when you'd come back to me," the smooth voice called. "I simply cannot get you out of my mind, you must be mine tonight as well." The voice belonged to a ruggedly handsome man, with shoulder-length wavy hair, bright brown eyes, and a square, chiseled jaw. His burnished half-plate armor gleamed, and he cut quite the dashing figure. Several of the barmaids eyed him surreptitiously from their positions.

"Loric, I thought I told you that it was over," she sighed. Her good mood slipped away like water through her fingers.

"_Ser_ Loric," he corrected her. "Soon to be _Magistrate_ Loric," he added, tossing his long, brown hair. "You know my uncle will be appointing me to the magistracy soon. I would shower you with gifts. You must be mine."

"I'll pass, thanks. I've finally just gotten rid of the _last_ little 'gift' you gave me, and I am not eager for a repeat performance," she scoffed. She turned toward the bar, but he grabbed her by the forearm in a rough grip.

"I haven't finished with you yet, woman," he hissed. She narrowed her eyes.

"Let. Me. _GO_," she commanded.

He growled, "You will learn your _place_!" His gauntleted hand constricted around her arm.

"Oh, I've learned my place, Loric. It's a shame you haven't," she said, glancing at his hand. Then she moved. She pulled her hand downward and stepped toward him, pulling and rotating his grasping arm at an awkward angle, killing his leverage. With her free hand, she drew a wicked-looking curved blade from behind her back and sliced upward from the back of the arm, nicking the sensitive flesh of the upper underarm, and breaking the strap holding the armor to his shoulder. His hand reflexively opened, freeing her arm, and she finished her movement by sliding one leg between his, then straightening, using her leg and hip as a lever and throwing him to the floor. He crashed into a table as he fell, and landed in a crumpled heap. She stepped directly over the fallen man's face on her way to the bar.

"Take a good look, Loric. It'll be the last time you see this again," she mused, slapping her ass for emphasis.

"You'll regret this," he growled as he rose from the floor.

"I already do," she sniffed, turning from him. He turned and limped out the door into the afternoon sun. As she sipped her whiskey, she reflected. The man was very handsome, for certain. And he was rich; he had no problems spending coin on her as if it were nothing. She'd certainly had _worse_ in bed. But he was a selfish lover, like so many other selfish lovers she'd had. She had come to expect it; she was just using them as much as they used her, and the pleasure she could eke out of her frequent trysts provided a measure of release for her otherwise tense living situation. Each day that passed was another day that the Qunari or Castillon might find her, and she would either be dragged off to Par Vollen in chains, or be discovered the next morning in a ditch with her throat cut. Or, worse still, vanished on a slave ship into the night. She shuddered at the thought and quickly took another swallow of her whiskey.

* * *

><p>As she slowly walked in the darkness, she listened. The only sounds that greeted her were her own soft footfalls on the stone beneath her and the gentle sound of the ocean echoing through the passage behind her. The cave narrowed, and the ceiling gradually lowered until she was forced to stoop. However, she could feel a small breeze blowing from the direction she moved, so she knew that there had to be an opening of some sorts up ahead. Soon, the ceiling had grown so low that she was forced to crawl. The breeze was still blowing, so she continued on her way. She pushed her way through some small rocks and sand, and dug out the opening with one of her blades. It was slow going, digging in the darkness, but she was surely making progress. "Just like the relic," she muttered as she pulled a loose rock away from the hole.<p>

* * *

><p>She laughed and settled back into her favorite spot at the bar, and was about to tilt the cup to her lips when she stopped. Her cup was half-raised, but she could have sworn that the tiny crack in the cup had shifted position from when she saw it last. She raised her glass and sniffed it. She could make out the telltale scent of mint over the sour smell of the whiskey. She pretended to take a sip, tasting the liquid with the tip of her tongue, then slammed the cup down with a contented sigh. As she giggled to herself outwardly, she mentally concentrated on the concoction that had been added to her drink. Thankfully, it wasn't the Crow Venom she had expected from a proper poisoner. An amateur then... less likely to provide useful information, but also less likely to be successful in his attempts to kill her. She took another fake sip, and feigned wooziness. Her tongue was starting to go numb, a telltale sign of Deathroot poison. Definitely an amateur, she thought.<p>

She rose unsteadily from her barstool and stumbled toward her room. She lurched from table to table, giggling to herself, and made her way toward her room. She opened the door, hiccupped, and fell through it. As soon as she moved through the door, she slammed the door shut behind her, rolled behind it, and stood up. As she rose, she drew a long, thin blade from her boot. She unbuckled a hidden pocket on her left thigh and removed the stopper from a small, thin wineskin she kept there. The blade slid into the opening of the skin easily, and when she drew it out, it had been bathed in a viscous, violet fluid. She carefully restoppered the skin, and closed the pocket. She slowed her breathing and waited.

She didn't wait long. A few moments later, her door opened and a man with a droopy-looking mustache stepped into her room. He glanced around in his confusion, he was obviously expecting a passed-out pirate on the floor. She clamped her free hand over his mouth, and drew her blade along his neck, just enough to draw blood. He immediately froze and went limp in her arms. She closed the door and flipped the man onto his back. His eyes darted to and fro, but when he tried to speak only a soft, low moan came out. She squatted over his stomach, reached down, and tapped his cheek with a finger to get his attention and waved her blade in front of his face.

"This is Antivan Crow venom. You may have heard of the stuff. It has many delicious uses, one of which I'm sure you're experiencing right now," she said cheerfully. "A single drop will cause paralysis for a few minutes, but a second dose will ignite all of the pain centers in your body, and a third... You don't want to know what a third will do."

When she saw the fear in his eyes, her smile grew wicked. She dangled her poisoned blade above his nose. "I want some answers. Look up and down for yes, left and right for no, or roll your eyes if you don't know or I need to ask more questions. Lie, and we'll go to two doses."

"First question. Were you here to kill me?" Mustachio rapidly looked left and right.

"Hmm... not here to kill me, then why would you try to poison me? Is your boss a slaver?"

No again.

"If your boss isn't a slaver, and isn't trying to kill me, why would he want to poison me? Does he want to warn me away?"

Yes, this time.

"I think I need some real answers from you. This should take but a second," she said as she unstoppered a small bottle retrieved from her right thigh and dipped the tip of her blade in it. The man's eyes remained glued to the blade as the tip emerged with a green tint to it. She drew the tip of the blade across his cheek, drawing blood. He clenched his eyes shut.

"I don't want to die!" he whispered feverishly. Then his eyes opened.

"You still might," she said grimly, while toying with the two-colored blade in his face. "Now talk. Who sent you? Why are you after me?"

The man desperately whispered, "Athenril! It was Athenril, she wanted to get rid of you!"

"Now that's interesting. Why would Athenril be interested in me?"

"I don't know, she wouldn't tell me! She just paid me to poison you!"

Isabela looked thoughtful from her perch. The man clenched his eyes and whispered, "Are you going to kill me?"

She quickly frisked him, removed his hidden daggers, and took his coinpurse. She patted him on the cheek and said, "Not this time. Whether there will be a next time is entirely up to you. See yourself out when you can. I've got to see a woman about an elf."

* * *

><p>Thankfully, she did not have to crawl long. The hole actually widened as she moved forward, opening into a comfortable width and height for several people to walk shoulder to shoulder. The darkness pervaded, but she could feel the steady incline of the ground, indicating she was rising in elevation. The small breeze still blew toward her, granting her some measure of comfort. In the distance, she could see a dim light source, likely some sort of fungal light source in the cave. She headed toward it.<p>

Eventually the wall gave way, opening into a large chamber. Dimly glowing moss barely illuminated the room, casting everything in a soft orange light. As she approached, the moss thickened and the glow grew brighter, casting shadows among the stalagmites of the cavern floor. The gentle orange light comforted her, like it had for years...

* * *

><p>The pirate found her target at the Hightown market. Hawke had been speaking with Hubert, the merchant she co-owned a mining operation with. As she approached, Isabela thought about how to broach the subject. Hawke would certainly help. She was sure of it.<p>

From a distance, Hawke looked angry. She had a sour look on her otherwise beautiful face, and her nose and forehead were slightly crinkled in distaste. Isabela couldn't make out what they were saying, but the Ferelden woman certainly seemed animated about it. She gesticulated, she shouted, and she pointed. Hubert looked like a deer that had been caught by a lion, and the woman positively loomed over him. Finally, he bowed and handed her a small pouch. She angrily grabbed it from him and shook it at him before turning to go.

Before she could process the new events, Hawke spotted her in amid the stalls. The Ferelden's bright eyes lit up and a smile grew on her face, chasing the frown and anger away. Isabela waved a greeting, and Hawke practically skipped to meet her.

"Thank goodness I spotted you, I've been having a dreadful day and I was hoping you would be able to alleviate my condition," she chuckled.

"Don't tell me you've gone soft after moving in with the nobles, Hawke. You know entertaining bored noblewomen has never been my strong suit," replied Isabela with a smirk.

"You don't give yourself enough credit," urged Hawke. "Come, I'm starving and I know someone as well-traveled as you must know what's good to eat."

The pirate gave her a sultry look up and down, before replying, "I can certainly think of a few things." She offered her elbow, and Hawke happily took it. As they walked arm in arm through the merchant stalls, Hawke would point out things she thought were pretty, oftentimes making Isabela laugh and Hawke to flush with embarrassment.

"Hawke, you really must learn to recognize the good Orlesian silks from the imitations," giggled the pirate.

Hawke pouted, thrusting out her lower lip. The look was so cute that Isabela was insanely tempted to squeeze Hawke's cheeks. Instead, she pulled a bale of powder blue silk from the stall. She ran one fingertip along the cloth, and drew it along her friend's cheek.

"See? First rule of silk: It's cool to the touch. Real silk is never stored in warm places, and should always feel cool with the absence of body heat."

She unrolled a little bit of the cloth. She drew her small, curved blade and cut a small piece of cloth from the bale when the shopkeeper turned to help another customer. The strip came off cleanly with a single stroke. Isabela held the strip up for Hawke to inspect.

"The second rule of silk: It cuts very cleanly. It almost never tears or snags."

She then clipped a single strand from the strip. She held the fiber to a lamp and lit one end on fire. The strand burned quickly and cleanly, leaving nothing behind.

"The third rule of silk: it burns cleanly, the imitation stuff will usually have a foul smell, or produce some black smoke." The pirate laughed, and tied the strip of cloth around Hawke's wrist in a bright bow before taking Hawke's arm and tugging her to the next stall.

The pair next visited the food stalls. Hawke seemed especially interested in the cakes and pastries. Isabela procured some steamed long-necked clams for the pair, and went to find her companion. She finally spotted Hawke near a fancy-looking pastry stall, where the vendor was bundling up something for her. Hawke flushed a bit when Isabela appeared and handed her a clam.

"These are my favorite. Done right, they are juicy, supple, and go down easy. Three qualities I look for in many things," she laughed, before cutting a slice and eating it. Hawke tried the clam, and was delighted with it. They continued to walk about the marketplace as the sun began to set, and found themselves at the top of the great staircase to Lowtown. The view was spectacular, as they watched the sun set over the horizon line.

"Thank you for today," said Hawke. "It's been a long time since I took some time to just have some fun."

"I should be thanking you," replied the pirate. "I've been a bit preoccupied recently, and this afternoon has helped me get some... perspective."

Silence permeated the air again for several moments. Hawke looked down at the silk bow on her wrist, and cleared her throat.

"Oh, that's right," she said, as if remembering something. "You haven't yet visited my family's estate here in Hightown, have you?"

Isabela perked up. Unless she was reading the signs wrong, she had been waiting _years_ for such an invitation. "Are you sure I won't be intruding?" she asked.

"Of course not. I'd love to show you the place."

Isabela grinned and offered her arm to the Ferelden again. "Let's go then, shall we?"

* * *

><p>The luminescent moss and breeze led the pirate through the sand-filled caves, and she heard rushing water from up ahead. She saw the cave opening up even further into a large chamber. The floor gave way to a steep crevasse that separated her side of the cave with the other. It was too far to leap all at once, but rock outcroppings of varying sizes and heights jutted high from the crashing ocean waves below. With a little luck and some strong fingers, she should be able to cross.<p>

The first leap was easy. She landed on a large, flat rock and used her momentum to leap for a handhold on a small outcropping on the next column. She managed to grab hold with both hands and held on for dear life. She steadied herself and tried to calm her beating heart. As she shimmied up a large stalagmite growing from the outcropping between her legs, she smirked to herself and imagined it was Hawke's moaning form she was climbing. She gathered herself for her next leap, and couldn't help rubbing herself against the rock a few times. She wondered where Hawke was, and mentally went over her list of things she would do to the Champion once they found each other again.

* * *

><p>Isabela looked around Hawke's estate, noting the intricate stonework and decor. "So, this is where you live. Not bad. I preferred the old place. It had... more charm."<p>

Hawke's response was as gently biting as always. She raised a beautiful eyebrow and said, "You're talking about the shack I shared with my mother, uncle, and brother?"

"I meant Lowtown. Dirty, chaotic, glorious Lowtown," answered Isabela. Her voice grew wistful as she approached and leaned against a nearby wall. "The smell of tar and the sea, and the sound of some whore plying her trade in a back alley—don't you miss that?"

"Bad smells and awful noises. Why would I miss that?" Hawke laughed, though spots of color bloomed on her cheeks.

"Because it adds character to a place, you goose," chided Isabela, smiling. "Hightown's nice enough, I suppose, for people who like clean streets and polite neighbors," she went on, "But we're not like those people, are we? We play by our own rules." She grinned a wicked, sultry grin at the Fereldan woman. Their closeness let Isabela smell Hawke's scent, a gentle smell of lavender with a hint of sweat and blood. It was intoxicating. Hawke's bright eyes locked onto her own, and she felt a spark with surprising intensity.

Isabela's mind quietly yielded as any errant concerns faded from her mind and were replaced by invading thoughts of pleasure. "Speaking of playing," she said, "Why don't we go off and have a little bit of... girly fun?" She licked her lips in anticipation.

The motion was not lost on Hawke, as her cheeks colored even more. Still, she resisted. "What, like shopping?" Her smile was radiant, if a bit embarrassed. Scant inches separated Hawke's lips from the pirate's, and Isabela felt the heat in her belly spreading to the tips of her fingers and toes.

"No, silly. Us, together. Telling secrets, exploring each other's hidden... depths," replied Isabela, rolling her tongue specifically around the final word.

"When you put it that way, how could I refuse?" Hawke replied in a joking voice, but her eyes, those glorious, bright, ravenous eyes of hers betrayed her demeanor. She was breathing a bit more heavily than usual, and the effect was not lost on Isabela. The pirate wasted no time, flinging her arms around the Ferelden and hauling her in for the kiss they'd both been longing for. It wasn't soft or gentle, but fierce and passionate as they hungrily experienced each other with their lips. Isabela sucked on Hawke's lower lip while Hawke's tongue explored the Rivaini woman's teeth and tickled her gumline. The kisses continued, where their tongues danced intricate steps in the intervening space, and pleasure was the language of choice.

Finally, Hawke broke the kiss. She took Isabela by the hand and gently tugged, moving toward the stairs. They ran up the stairs, and Hawke managed to make it to her door before Isabela pinned her against it and kissed her again. Hawke moaned as her hand scrambled for the doorknob. She finally found it and released it. The door swung inward, and Hawke stumbled back into the bedroom. Isabela grinned and leaped onto the woman, kissing her again and again.

Hawke lurched unsteadily, trying to hold the added weight without breaking the kiss or falling. The Ferelden woman awkwardly unsheathed and tossed Isabela's large blades aside, one after another. The pirate grinned and leaned forward, shifting Hawke's center of gravity and forcing Hawke to stumble backward onto the bed directly beneath her. Hawke grimaced a bit, and Isabela saw the cause of the problem. She drew Hawke's special hidden knife from the woman's inner thigh, and tossed it over her shoulder. With a wicked grin, Isabela winked at her captive once, then resumed her assault.

* * *

><p>The sex had been very <em>different<em> from what she'd been used to. Isabela had had many lovers over the course of her lifetime, but they had typically fallen into one of three categories: selfish, competitive, or naive. As she gasped for breath in the afterglow of the evening's entertainment, she couldn't quite ascertain which category Hawke belonged in. Selfish lovers were the most common. They used her, she used them, and there was some mutual pleasure out of it for necessity's sake. Then there were the competitive ones. They were lovers who had something to prove, usually how good they are at this or that. They were definitely fun for a while, but inevitably moved on once they got bored. And then there were the naive ones, who were just happy to be having sex at all. They were often eager and enthusiastic, but not very technically proficient. And then there was Hawke...

Hawke's performance was so very _different_ from the others. If Isabela had to put a word to it, it would have been _attentive_. It was obvious that it wasn't Hawke's first dance, but she had clearly not had a large number of past lovers either. Her skills and tricks were decidedly limited, and that would normally put her squarely in the middle of the pack, but there was something special about the way that she paid attention to all of the subtle cues that Isabela gave her; where she enjoyed it, where she didn't, and even the tiniest of details never slipped by the Ferelden woman. Practically all of her sensitive areas had been touched and caressed in some way, and at just the right times. It was as if Isabela had been an open book, and Hawke had studied it extensively. The result had been nothing short of amazing. The effects of her first orgasm were so strong that Isabela's toes curled. The third made her realize how proficient and perhaps unnaturally strong and dexterous Hawke's tongue was. And the sixth... Maker, the pirate thought she had actually blacked out for a few moments there.

Not that she was in love or anything. It was just wildly fantastic sex. And Isabela definitely gave as good as she got. Hawke made the cutest noises when the pirate nibbled her earlobes. She had a much fouler vocabulary than the pirate would have expected; that particular revelation made Isabela giggle and almost lose focus on the task at hand. And she did so love to hear Hawke calling her name out over and over in the throes of passion with that utterly adorable voice. There was something about hearing the normally sarcastic and witty woman completely let go and be totally free from any hidden meanings. She found herself enjoying the sound immensely, and even looked forward to the next time when she'd be able to do it again.

However, it was over and she needed to return to her original task. She looked at Hawke and felt warring desires in her heart over what to do next. Hawke was looking at her with those big, bright doe eyes, and Isabela wasn't thrilled with the idea of having to break Hawke's heart. It may have just been the euphoric post-coital high, but the idea seemed very unpleasant to the pirate for some reason. She frowned.

An uneasy feeling began clawing at her from deep within her entrails. She had to leave now. There were feelings stirring that she didn't recognize, and they frightened her. Leave. Now.

She started to put on her clothes. As she heard stirring in the bed behind her, she tried to sound nonchalant.

"That was..." Isabela couldn't help it. She giggled just thinking about it. "Thank you. I should go. I wouldn't want to take advantage of your... hospitality."

Hawke smiled at her, a gentle, warm smile. Isabela felt a tightness in her chest when she saw that look. "I like it when you take advantage of my hospitality," she smiled.

"It was fun, wasn't it? Well, you know, if you ever want to do it again..." The pirate paused. Time to head it off before it got too strange."Wait. You're not thinking of bringing 'feelings' into this, are you?" Feelings were bad. They complicated things, muddied the water, and spun things about.

"What about love?" The look on her face was so kind and warm that Isabela felt the tightness in her chest intensifying. She tried to shrug it off.

"Love's not for everyone. It's not for me. It's just... messy," she said.

"It's not always up to you. Love can be pretty persistent," said Hawke in that musical voice of hers when she wasn't hiding behind her veneer of wit. It was rather refreshing.

"I don't care. It can go pester someone else," Isabela said with finality. Hawke's countenance fell, and Isabela felt a wrenching inside. Perhaps a few more moments wouldn't hurt... Hawke was looking at her with those big doe eyes again, and Isabela's resolve crumbled before their assault.

"Did you know I was once married? When I was freed, I swore I would never marry again," she offered. Hawke's eyes lit up.

"Your marriage was loveless, and you've never experienced true love?" she asked

Isabela laughed bitterly. "Oh, I've been in love. I fell in love with a man not long after my husband died," she began. "He foolishly asked for my hand. I refused to be tied down again, and I fled. It broke his heart. Destroyed him."

"Love them and leave them, eh?" Hawke asked, the teasing tone working its way back into her voice.

Isabela looked at Hawke gratefully. "That's right," she agreed. "He should have known better."

Hawke looked at her with gentle eyes. "You're not afraid of being hurt, you're just afraid of hurting someone else."

Isabela felt the tightness in her chest intensify again. It was all kinds of wrong, especially these types of feelings. "No. I... look, it isn't like that. It's just easier this way." she started. She steeled herself and looked away. "Now, if you're done trying to confuse the issue, I'm going to go."

The pirate started to leave, but paused. Hawke could not see her face, a fact for which Isabela was grateful. She felt a sadness she had thought had long since been extinguished. Forcing herself not to look back, she left the estate wondering what the evening had meant.

* * *

><p>The cavern continued its winding path through the insides of the mountain. She could still feel the faint breeze on her face, so she knew she was going in the right direction. She steeled herself and kept moving.<p>

"They're waiting for me," she said to herself. "I'll walk in, and Hawke will have some of her cupcakes freshly baked just for me, and we'll all have a good laugh over all this."

She imagined the fluffy pastry and could almost taste them, when she encountered something fluffy in her mouth. The flavor, however, was decidedly more bitter and disgusting than Hawke's cupcakes. She spat, but the fluff stuck to her face. She pulled it away, and drew one of her blades. One did not come across such large spider webs often, and she had experienced these before. Still, the moss provided sufficient light that she should be able to see the potential dangers coming. She proceeded cautiously.

Thoughts of cupcakes gone, she moved along carefully, listening for the telltale sounds of scurrying legs. Only silence greeted her ears as she stepped quietly through the web-strewn caverns. She idly wondered what carnivorous spiders could subsist on at this depth; she had not seen any bones or other indicators of living creatures. She suddenly became aware of a distinct smell in the air. It smelled faintly of rotting eggs. She narrowed her eyes.

"Well, that answers that question," she muttered to herself. She continued to move as silently as she could, and spied a clutch of dragonlings sleeping together. She forced herself to take slow breaths and stepped slowly and quietly past them. She was nearly past them, when she heard a scream in the distance, echoing through the caverns. Her heart sank. She moved as quickly as she could, using the echoes to cover her location, but she already heard the scrambling of little claws on the sand and stone. She broke into a loping run, trying to put as much distance between her and the dragonlings as she could, until she saw a flash out of the corner of her eye. It was just enough warning to leap backward. A stream of webbing shot past where she had been, and collided with the wall instead. A spider the size of a large horse had focused its huge, bulbous eyes on her. Its mandibles dripped some sort of foul goo, as it skittered toward her on its hairy, knobby legs. Isabela looked at the thing once, before turning to run back the way she came. A plan started forming in her mind.

As she dashed back, she drew a small flask. She loosened the stopper on the glass container, then hurled it directly at the crowd of writhing dragonlings. The jar flew end over end, until it landed directly in the center of the lizards, where it shattered and erupted in a ring of flame. The enraged dragonlings charged at the pirate, who had turned to watch the rushing spider behind her. It tilted its abdomen upward and spat another web stream at her, but the canny woman rolled out of the way, and the web line slammed into three of the charging dragonlings. The spider, feeling the vibrations of trapped prey, barreled forward toward the dragonlings. Isabela pressed herself against the cave wall, and as the spider passed, she drew her blade along the underside of one of the spider's massive legs, cutting the tendons that controlled it. The massive arachnid's leg gave out and went limp, making the creature stumble forward directly into the gang of dragonlings, who had all turned to focus on the new threat. Isabela quickly took the opportunity to move on, while the brutal battle drew all of the attention in the area. She padded along as quickly and as quietly as she could, and was relieved to see the webbing along the ceiling and floor become less and less pervasive, until she saw no more of it. Breathing a sigh of relief, she took a moment to collect her thoughts.

* * *

><p>Isabela spent the next three days searching for Athenril, and her nights at the Blooming Rose. She reached into her reserves and paid good coin for the very best Madam Lusine had to offer. She had to know what it was that had stirred her up inside, but despite the technical skills displayed, Isabela found herself unable to feel the same euphoric high she had from her night with Hawke. Oh, she surely enjoyed her time with the Rose's entertainments, but it wasn't enough. Something was just... <em>lacking<em>. It confused her. It had just been fantastic sex, hadn't it? That had to be it. The only possible conclusion was that Hawke was simply better than the best the Rose had to offer. And as such, it would be a shame for Isabela not to take full advantage of such a resource.

Hawke proved to be a willing participant, both in the search for Athenril and in the bedroom, as well as in Isabela's nook behind the ale barrels, on the dining room table, in Isabela's room at the Hanged Man, and a variety of other locations. In addition, Hawke proved to be an apt student. She took to Isabela's bedroom techniques like a duck to water, and could often return the favor almost immediately. And while the sex got even better, Isabela was surprised to find herself genuinely enjoying the time she spent with the wily, wily Ferelden. The easy smile, wicked sense of humor, and attentiveness all made talking to Hawke about what she'd do once she got her ship, where she'd sail, or even telling old stories of past escapades, fun. Isabela made a point of never staying the entire night, however. She couldn't let Hawke get the wrong idea about it, after all.

Unfortunately, the canny elven smuggler continued to elude the pair. Athenril was not one of the best smugglers in Kirkwall for nothing. Each tip that the pirate found led to another false trail, an abandoned safe house, or a dead end. The trail led across Lowtown, Hightown, the docks, and down into Darktown. It would have been much more aggravating had Isabela not been getting regular doses of her favorite form of stress relief. As it was, it did grate a bit.

One of their chases had led to the pair into a Darktown trap; a band of Coterie thugs were waiting for them with drawn blades. The ensuing melee had been bad, the Coterie had gotten the drop on them, and were sporting poisoned daggers. They were using the same Deathroot toxin that Isabela had managed to avoid during the previous attempt on her life. Isabela drew her own blades and weaved a dance of death through the ambush. Hawke was right behind her, as they fought back to back. Isabela didn't have to look behind her when the explosions started. Her own foes fell quickly, the first with a severed artery in his unarmored leg, the second clutched his throat in a desperate attempt to stop the bleeding. She flipped a third over her shoulder and followed the motion with a downward stab. She looked back, and saw Hawke pulling the blade end of her staff out of a fallen assailant, only to see another man charge the Ferelden from behind.

Hawke spun to meet her attacker, but it was too late. The man was already upon her and his blade had begun its descent. Hawke closed her eyes and braced for impact, but it never came. A moment later, she looked up to see the man clutching at long, thin blade protruding from his left eye socket as he fell to his knees and died.

Isabela turned to her friend. "Not a bad fight. I guess this means we're on the right trail," said the pirate.

Hawke nodded. "She must be scared if she's trying to kill us. She knows what we're capable of. We should... search... for..." she began, then trailed off. Isabela looked on in horror as Hawke's eyes rolled up into her head and she collapsed into a heap. The pirate rushed over to the fallen heroine, and immediately forced down all feelings of panic. She knew that the thugs were using poison. Find the cut, apply the antivenom, and get her some real help as soon as possible. She repeated the mantra to herself as she searched the pale woman's body for blood that belonged to her.

"...zzzabela... I feel funnieeeee..." mumbled Hawke. A wave of relief washed over Isabela. If Hawke was still conscious, the situation was better than she thought. Isabela redoubled her effort to find the cut. After searching her friend's arms and legs, she turned to the woman's torso. Placing her hands on the woman's sides and belly, the Rivaini searched quickly.

"... zzzzabela, you're insatia... " moaned Hawke as the pirate ran hands over her breasts.

"Stay with me, sweet thing. Tell me how much you're enjoying this," said Isabela, finally finding the cut near the nape of Hawke's neck. The wound wasn't deep, but it had turned a nasty purple color. Isabela's heart skipped a beat. It wasn't just Deathroot, it was a combination of both Deathroot and Fleshrot. Without proper treatment, it would quickly fester.

"I expect you to repay me generously for this," muttered the pirate. She licked her lips, carefully wetting them with as much saliva as she could, and placed her lips on the wound. She ran her tongue carefully over it, trying to dislodge as much of the foul poison and hardened blood as possible, and then sucked as hard as she could. The first mouthful tasted of the metal tang of blood mixed with the bitterness of the poisons. She spat it out quickly, and went for a second mouthful, then a third. When she only tasted blood, she patted Hawke on the cheek.

"Hawke, you still with me? Come on, you goose. No falling asleep before we get to the good part," she chided, rousing the woman in her arms.

"Mmm... did we win?" Hawke moaned.

"Yes, we did. Now we're going to the Hanged Man for a drink. You're buying." Isabela pulled one of Hawke's arms around her shoulders. "Up we go, sweet thing. I have big plans for us before you fall asleep, and they all involve nakedness," she coaxed as she dragged Hawke to her feet.

"Just move your legs, one foot in front of the other. Come on, stay with me."

Slowly, the two women moved through the dimly lit tunnels toward the clinic. The beggars and refugees occasionally gave them looks, but the wicked-looking bloodstained blade Isabela carried in her free hand was sufficient to dissuade any of them looking for an easy mark. As she approached the clinic, she could hear Anders' voice from inside.

"Yes. Though I would stay away from women you meet in the port. Pirates tend to... dock in unsavory places," he said.

"I heard that!" she called as she entered, half-dragging Hawke along with her. Anders was conversing with Seneschal Bran, of the Viscount's office. Something set off warning bells in Isabela's head. She set Hawke to rest on a pallet nearby, and waved Anders over for immediate attention.

"Just use the salve twice a week, until it fades. Use it again if it comes back," the mage said to the Seneschal, as he moved to examine Hawke. Bran grabbed at Anders' arm.

"Ser healer, couldn't you just..." he said, a touch desperately.

"The Red Ache is magically resistant. If I could have done something, I would have. Unfortunately, your best chance is to simply let the salve do its work," said Anders, as he moved toward the coughing Hawke. Isabela's ears perked up as Anders approached the feverish woman.

"Hawke's been poisoned. A mix of Deathroot and Fleshrot," said the pirate immediately. "She needs Spindleweed extract or she'll die, and this was the closest place."

"I'll administer it right now," agreed Anders, and he quickly strode to his herb stores.

As he left, Isabela exhaled and brushed some of Hawke's matted hair from her face. She called out as the Seneschal was about to leave. "So... the Red Ache, eh?"

Bran looked like he had just chewed on a lemon. "What do _you_ want?" he finally said.

She continued, "You have a nephew, don't you? Ser Loric, he calls himself?"

"Magistrate Loric is my sister's son," Bran said uncomfortably. "What does that have to do with anything?" he growled.

She smiled wickedly at him. "You might want to get more of that salve of yours. He could use some for himself," she murmured.

The color drained from Bran's face. The Seneschal glanced left and right before hissing, "How did you know about that?"

Her smile grew wider as she said, "That doesn't matter. I know, and if you don't want anyone _else_ to know, you'll have to do something to buy my... silence."

He grimaced. "What is it you want?" he demanded.

"A smuggler named Athenril. She has been eluding me for quite some time, but surely someone with your... _family connections_ would be able to find her quite easily," she mused.

"Fine," he conceded. "I will have her found. She occasionally does work for the Viscount's office. _Discreetly_."

An errant thought crossed her mind.

"And one other thing... I have an elven friend in Hightown, who is having trouble with a tax collector..."

"Yes, yes, consider it taken care of. Is that all?" he angrily whispered.

Anders finally returned with the Spindleweed extract, and began administering it to Hawke's wound. Isabela looked back at the fallen Ferelden, and nodded to the Seneschal. He turned on his heel and stalked out of the clinic.

"I think the extract's taken care of the worst of it. I've many other patients to tend, so please take care of Hawke until the fever breaks. If anything happens, shout for me," Anders informed her as she approached.

"But... I can't just..." Isabela began, before being interrupted by Hawke giving a low moan. She quickly moved to check on the woman, and when she approached, Hawke reached out a cold, sweaty hand in her general direction.

"...zzzzabela, where are you? I need... you..." the woman moaned in her delirium.

Isabela sighed, and took one of Hawke's hands. She kissed the back of the knuckles softly and murmured, "Just this once, sweet thing. Just this once" before settling down next to the woman lying in the pallet.

* * *

><p>Gradually, the narrow cave that the breeze came from widened again. As she squinted through the darkness, she could make out stonework, with etchings and carvings along the wall of crying and wailing people lashed by a masked overseer, leading to a large stone door with what appeared to be Tevinter markings. A number of charred skeletons in grisly, contorted poses decorated the room.<p>

"Wonderful," she sighed. "Stuck in an ancient tomb because I had to open my big, fat mouth."

She moved toward the door, when she heard an audible click, followed by a low rumbling noise. A stone shifted beneath her foot.

"Shit," she cursed. She crouched low and braced for an impact, ready to leap out of the way at a moment's notice. Nothing immediate happened, and she relaxed a bit. Taking care not to shift her weight off of the pressure plate, she examined the trap she had inadvertently triggered. In the dim light, she could make out similarly patterned stones on the ground. Two of the blackened skeletons were just off of the other square stone plate on the ground. She squinted in the low light, and made out several holes in the ceiling in a floral pattern above the plate. She could make out a similar patterns above the other plate. As her eyes adjusted, she could see large scorch marks on the ground around the plate, but not on it directly. She decided to experiment. She leaped straight up as high as she could.

The moment she left the plate, jets of flame erupted from the ceiling, forcing her to cover her head with her arms. As the flames came down, iron spears shot upward from the floor around her, leaving her plate and the other untouched. Despite the fact the flames had not touched her directly, her arms and back hurt from the massive amount of heat that radiated into her body. Her left arm was mostly protected by her leather armor, but her right exploded in pain from the burns. When she landed on the pressure plate, the spikes immediately retracted and the flames stopped, but she didn't have time to think as she crumpled in a heap.

She sighed as she took off her bandana and tore it into strips to use as bandages. "What kind of mess have you gotten yourself into this time, Isabela?" she chided herself. She sat down and hugged her knees, trying to conserve her body heat. Her clothes had dried a bit, but were still slightly damp. Her mind drifted, thinking about the last time that she had been in a situation where she had gone it alone.

* * *

><p>The elven woman hurriedly threw valuables into her satchel. The warning had come almost too late; she knew that the killer was on the premises, and that the posted guards would buy her minimal time. Athenril sighed. It was the third safehouse that fortnight that she'd been forced to abandon, and it was one of her better prepared hideaways. Recovering from this relentless assault would cost a fortune. She spared a single glance at the contents of the satchel, then slung it over her shoulder. She heard a commotion and yelling from outside. Time to make her exit. She flipped back the rug, opened the secret door, and repositioned the carpeting to cover it properly again, then closed the trap portal behind her.<p>

The smuggler shimmied down the stairs into the tunnel, and quickly loped down the narrow corridor, glancing behind her every few moments to make sure she wasn't followed. The sounds of the fighting faded, and she settled into the darkness of the tunnel. After walking in darkness with a hand along the passage wall, Athenril took a few moments to relax. She knelt, and drew a hooded lantern from her satchel. The smuggler struck her flint and tinder together to light it, casting a dull, orange glow in her area. She caught movement out of the corner of her eye, and spun while drawing the poisoned dagger she kept at her hip. As she turned, looked up only to see a leather bootheel descend directly into her face. The world went topsy-turvy for a moment, her jaw started hurting like hell, and she saw black spots before her eyes. She blinked and tried to sit up, but the same foot that kicked her in the face pressed down against her chest. The foot was attached to a leather-clad leg, covered in buckles and straps, leading up to...

"Isabela!" Anthenril croaked. The pirate smirked at her.

"You've given me a merry chase, sweet thing, but I've finally caught you," she said merrily. She leaned down a bit, putting enough pressure on the elf's chest to cause her to grimace in pain.

"I didn't mean for this to happen, Isabela!" she desperately choked.

"You didn't mean to send the Coterie with poisoned daggers to try to kill me? I don't usually take attempts on my life too personally. I forgave the fool who tried to poison me weeks before, but those Coterie men seriously injured my lo-," she caught herself, and coughed. "... my favorite _plaything_. I don't like it when my toys are taken from me. Tell me, Athenril, why should I not take something from you?" In the distance, the echoing sound of the trap door opening and men's shouts echoed down the narrow tunnel.

Both women looked back up the corridor. They could hear the stomping of boots. Athenril looked to Isabela with a gleam in her eye.

"I know where the relic you're seeking is," she said. "Let me go, and I'll tell you where."

Isabela's eyes narrowed. "Prove it," she said carefully.

"It is a large, bound tome written by an oxman named Koslun," Athenril said quickly. She focused her eyes on the pirate's amber eyes, trying to read her expression. The sounds and shouts of approaching men grew louder. "Free me, and I will tell you where it is."

"Very well," Isabela sighed, removing her foot from the elf's chest. Athenril sat up quickly, only to suddenly freeze when she found the flinty point of a wickedly curved blade pointed at her neck.

"I don't trust you, Athenril. We're getting out of here, then you're telling me where the tome is located," Isabela warned. Athenril quickly stood. As she did, she blew out the lantern, the sounds drew close and the pirate saw the telltale glow of approaching lanterns from the direction of the safehouse. The two broke into a run, and Isabela following the elf closely. The corridor swiftly broke into two, then three hallways. Athenril moved confidently, first taking a left, then a right at the fork. Finally, after running for several long minutes, they reached a dead end marked with a single apple with a bite taken out of it. Athenril pushed a barrel to one side, revealing a hidden door beneath it.

"Darktown?" asked Isabela. The elf nodded. There was no apparent sound of pursuit.

"Now tell me, where is the relic?" demanded the pirate.

"Your old friend Loric has it," replied the elf as she raised the trap door.

"Loric? What would that fool want with the relic?"

"The same reason I sold it to him. It's worth a great deal of coin to the right people," she said. With that, Athenril crushed a small glass vial in her hand and hurled it to the floor. A moment later, the chemicals in the vial mixed and a thick, bilious cloud of smoke erupted from the ground.

Isabela began coughing uncontrollably. Athenril, having held her breath, slid down through the trap door and grabbed the leather release as she passed, slamming it shut and locking it behind her. She could hear Isabela's shouts as she slid down further into the passage, and chuckled to herself.

She reached into her satchel to find her lightstone, only to feel nothing. She desperately groped for her things, but found only a long cut through the bottom of the satchel. She looked back up at the locked trap door, then back down at her empty satchel, then finally screamed in frustration.

* * *

><p>Loric was not a hard man to find. He was a magistrate after all, and he had a certain public accountability to keep. However, being a magistrate meant a lot of armed guards, and Isabela was rapidly running out of favors. Hawke was still laid out and recovering, which meant that the pirate was on edge, physically speaking. In a few short weeks, she had found herself greatly enjoying the Ferelden woman in many regards, and the combination of her sudden absence and the feeling Isabela had of <em>responsibility<em> for said absence had both increased her stress level and deprived her of her favorite method of stress relief. She had been sorely tempted to visit the Rose, but something about doing so just kept nagging at her internally. The nagging feeling inevitably led to the pirate thinking about Hawke again, which then lead to the way Hawke's eyes shined when she would enter the room, the way her laugh made Isabela want to join in, and the way her tongue would caress the pirate's so delicately when they kissed. She shook her head, and focused on the relic. It was the one thing that had kept driving her forward all this time, and everything that obtaining the relic would entail. She pushed the thoughts of Hawke aside, as she adjusted her corset and veil again.

Twice a week, Loric would send for a courtesan to "entertain" him. The description was unsurprising enough, he had a thing for dark skinned women with large breasts. The difficult part was getting in without being recognized. Isabela had borrowed one of Hawke's dresses for the occasion. The woman was still recovering, and certainly wouldn't want her lo... dear friend to lose out on this opportunity. A filmy red veil to match the Orlesian silk gown that was cut low to emphasize her breasts was more than enough to convince Loric's stuffy-looking majordomo to accept her as the day's entertainment. A few doe-eyed looks and light touches in the right places was enough to wrap them around her little finger.

Getting in wasn't difficult. As she strutted past all of the armed guardsmen in the foyer, she knew that the relic had to be on the premises. There was no reason for there to be _this_ many guards just for Loric. As she went up the stairs, the guards parted and opened the bedroom door for her. She sauntered through it and they closed the door behind her. Loric sat on the bed. He looked a lot worse than the last time she'd seen him, his handsome face was pale and his hair had lost its glossy look. He hadn't shaved in a while, and his cheeks were sunken, like he hadn't had a decent meal in weeks. She idly wondered whether he still had the disease she had to go to Anders to rid herself of weeks before. She frowned inwardly, remembering that Fenris hadn't even been grateful for her calling off the tax collector for him.

Loric looked up at her as she entered, and his eyes had a wild look in them, almost feral in nature. He stood, and started to reach for her. "You're quite a beauty, my lovely. Let's see what you can do," he said, as he approached.

She strode forward to meet him, swinging her hips sensually from side to side. She batted away both of his hands, and pushed him gently on his shoulders. He fell back, landing on the bed, as she continued to move forward. He licked his lips in anticipation as she crawled onto him, and his eyes were focused on her breasts as they strained against the neckline of her dress. She undid his belt and pants with one hand, and he reached for her veil. His eyes widened in recognition and he took in a breath to shout, when she clamped one hand over his mouth and drew her hidden blade with the hand she had used to undo his pants. She tapped his cheek with the flat to draw his attention to it. His eyes darted from the blade to her eyes as he took rapid breaths through his flared nostrils.

"Quietly, or it will be the last sound you make," she cautioned, and removed her hand from his mouth.

"You can't seriously think you'll be able to get out of this alive, whore," he grimaced as soon as her hand moved.

"We'll have to see about that. You always were a bit premature in your pronouncements, Loric," she scoffed. She tapped his face with the flat of her blade again. "Where is the relic?"

"I don't know what you're talking about!" He tried to sound defiant, but his eyes were focused firmly on the blade. She pressed the blade to his ear, nicking the sensitive flesh and drawing blood. Loric flinched.

"The relic, Loric," she repeated.

"It's hidden away, in a place you'll never see, because you'll be rotting in a jail cell for attempting to..." he spat. She clicked her tongue, then brought the tip of the blade directly above Loric's left eye.

"Loric, I'd hate to mar this pretty face of yours. It looks like you've been doing a fairly decent job of it yourself. Tell me where the relic is, or you lose an eye," she said grimly. His eye kept glancing from the point of the knife to her unyielding face, and he relented.

"I never got the relic. That damn elf bitch never delivered it," he said. She moved the blade closer to his eye, and the man whimpered. "It's the truth! I never got it! I sent my men to pick it up, and they never brought it back to me!"

"Loric, why would you do something so stupid?" she chided.

He sighed. "I originally just wanted it to get you back. Everyone knows you're after that thing, and I wanted it so I could have you," he said reluctantly. "But then I found out what the thing _was_. And I knew that I could find buyers... those Tevinters expressed a huge interest. I thought I could get it to them, and make myself rich in the process. But those Imperials found out I didn't have it, and now they're after me, too."

"Why all the added security?"

He laughed bitterly. "Didn't you hear me? The Imperials want me dead. You don't think that I look like I've been chewed up and spat out by Andraste's flaming horse because of a whore like you, do you? You're a good lay, but you're nowhere near as scary as those bloody Tevinters."

Something didn't add up. Isabela hated when she had that feeling. "The men you sent for the relic... You're sure they were all loyal to you?"

Loric said nothing, but she could tell his mind was racing. His eyes widened in recognition. She tapped him with the knife again. "Spill it."

"I didn't have my best men pick it up. I thought it was just some old stuffy treasure. It was just to get you back in my bed, after all. One of them was formerly an Imperial," he admitted.

"His name?" she asked. He looked at her defiantly. She hit him in the jaw with the butt of the blade.

"His name!" she demanded.

"Wall-eyed Sam," he spat.

She recognized the name. He was once a member of her crew, and she had thought him dead since the shipwreck. The man had been a decent crewman, but was always a greedy one, and utterly self-serving. She had once reprimanded him for leaving another crewman to drown, but he'd been a capable sailor. She frowned.

Noting her distraction, Loric shoved her off of him and shouted for the guards. She kicked him in the side and was on him in a flash, but she held the knife to his throat and braced for a hostage situation. Instead, a very loud explosion rocked the building, followed by shouts, then softer, sequential explosions. Isabela gripped harder, nearly choking Loric.

"You're in for it now, whore," he chuckled.

"You won't live long enough to see it," she muttered grimly.

The door opened with a creak, and wisps of thick, black smoke poured through it. A figure emerged from the smoke, and a woman's voice said, "I'm out for three days, and you've already gotten into _this_ much trouble?"

"_Hawke_?" the pirate exclaimed. Hawke limped into view, clutching her left arm. There was blood trailing down the exposed skin, and she held it gingerly. Her beautiful face was caked with soot, but her eyes were bright and full of concern. Isabela felt that damnable tightness in her chest when looking at her... favorite plaything. "What are you doing here?" demanded the pirate.

Hawke gave her a lopsided grin. "Saving my favorite dress, of course," she quipped. "Orana said she saw you borrow it. I know you don't come to Hightown without a reason, and you didn't stop by when you borrowed it. I thought you might get into trouble," she said with a smirk.

Isabela couldn't help it. She shoved Loric aside, strode over to the woman, and took her face in both hands. Then Isabela kissed her, hard, passionate, and overflowing with the emotions and stress the pirate had been struggling to keep bottled up inside for days. For what seemed like an endless moment, the whole world around them was seemingly forgotten, and everything just felt so right. The pirate's reverie was shattered when Loric gave a loud groan from the corner, where he lay in a heap, his pants in a tangle around his legs.

"You're hurt," Isabela said, putting her hands on Hawke's shoulders and looking her up and down. She frowned.

"I'll be fine, but we should get out of here before his men wake up," replied Hawke quickly.

"You didn't kill them all?"

"I didn't think I needed to. Are we going to kill him?" asked Hawke, looking at the disheveled man.

"No. He has enough problems on his own, and I don't relish the idea of doing the Tevinters' job for them," Isabela replied.

"Isn't he..." began the Ferelden.

"He doesn't matter," replied the pirate quickly. "You do. Let's get you some medical attention."

"Did you find the relic?"

Isabela looked down at Loric. "No. The trail's gone cold," she said quietly.

"I'm sorry," Hawke said simply.

"Come on. Let's get out of here," said Isabela, taking Hawke's hand and pulling her towards the exit.

* * *

><p>Isabela sighed as she sat on the dock, dangling her legs over the water and enjoying the evening air. She would often come here to think, but today she felt conflicted. After returning with Hawke and getting her bandaged up, the two women had most enthusiastically celebrated Hawke's return to good health in their favorite fashion. Isabela shivered a bit, remembering just how creative Hawke had gotten with the extra unused bandages. Isabela's stress had simply melted away at Hawke's touch, and been replaced by that euphoric haze of happiness that enveloped her like a warm, comfortable blanket. It was addicting, that feeling of gentle warmth that promised to take away all of her troubles if she'd let it. It would have been so easy to simply surrender to it, to let it saturate her, and to be lost in it. But each time it loomed, the deepest parts of her mind screamed in defiance. Never let anyone get that close again. Never expose such weakness to anyone. It was getting harder to fight the feeling. It was relentless, advancing on her each time, promising mind-bending pleasure in exchange for letting her guard down. She sighed again, louder this time.<p>

After returning to the Hanged Man, Left-Eyed Leonard had met her at the bar. He said that he had information to sell, that he knew where Wall-eyed Sam had holed up. The information was expensive, but good; Leonard hadn't ever had bad information before, and she had verified it when she had gone to search the docks. She had spotted Wall-eyed Sam on a ratty-looking skiff, but she knew he was far too crafty to keep the tome on his person. She tailed him and overheard him speaking to a cloaked man about setting up a meet at the foundry district of Lowtown. She had surreptitiously followed the cloaked man, until he reached out and she recognized the fragment of a Tevinter tattoo on the back of his hand. She had her confirmation; the transaction was happening at sundown on the next evening.

She looked at the red silk sash she had tied around her arm. It had been taken as a prize from the Ferelden woman after one of their earlier nights of passion. The pirate had cut it from one of Hawke's red silk dresses, and had used it to tie Hawke's hands together behind her back. They had tussled over the sash all night, and when the pleasant activities had ended, the pirate declared herself the winner of the duel and took it for her prize. Isabela gently rubbed the tails of the sash with her thumb. It was soft, and smooth to her touch. It still faintly smelled of Hawke, the gentle scent of lavender, blood and sweat.

The metallic smell of the blood on the sash bothered her. Not so much the normal smell of blood; the pirate had killed many, and was not afraid of killing many more. It reminded her of her vision of Hawke, deathly pale and collapsed at her feet. She had been genuinely frightened of what could have happened to the woman, and that didn't sit right with her. She wasn't sure what she would do if Hawke had ever been genuinely hurt or killed on account of her. All she knew was that it was a weakness, and that the best way to deal with it was to do what she had done before - leave. If she removed it, it wouldn't hurt anymore. All she needed was to get the relic, and she'd be free once more. She knew where it was, and this time she'd go with Hawke at her back, and she knew she'd finally get her hands on it.

"I thought I might find you here."

Isabela looked up. Hawke was standing behind her, grinning that lopsided grin and looking at her with those gorgeous bright eyes of hers. Isabela hastily stood, and was about to speak, when Hawke took the pirate's hands in hers.

"You looked sad, so I made you something," Hawke said cheerfully. Without letting go of one hand, she reached into her belt pouch and pulled out a small, folded paper boat. "I know it's not a full-sized boat, but it's a start."

Isabela couldn't help but look at the small paper boat. "Ship," she gently corrected, choking back the quiver in her voice. As she stared at the paper boat, it started to glow a gentle bluish color. Hawke smiled as the boat floated gently above her hand, and into the night sky. Isabela embraced Hawke, gently pulling her into the warm hug. As Hawke brought her arms up to Isabela's back, the pirate felt tears in her eyes and held on to the other woman as tightly as she could. After she was sure the tears were gone, she released the Ferelden woman and took her hand.

"Come on. I need a drink."

"You're buying, then," smirked Hawke.

"Just for tonight," agreed Isabela.

* * *

><p>Isabela shivered as she sat and hugged her knees. She had been flexing and stretching to keep herself limber, but the trap ensured she was unable to move from her position. She considered her options again, but they all came down to the same problem. The moment she tried to escape the pressure plate, she was going to die. She sighed, then noticed movement out of the corner of her eye.<p>

A small, paper boat glowing with a gentle blue light floated lazily through the air past her. She rapidly stood, and quickly looked about, hoping against hope.

"I thought I might find you here," said the most welcome voice she'd ever heard. Soft footsteps echoed through the chamber, as her lover strode into view. Time felt like it slowed to a crawl, as Isabela's relief turned to horror. Hawke's stride was purposeful and confident, but she was one step away from the second pressure plate.

"Hawke, no! Stop!" the pirate desperately cried.

Hawke, confused, stepped toward her. The plate went down, the grinding noise echoing as the mechanism was triggered. The entire room shuddered, as flecks of dust and stone fell from the ceiling. There was a terrible noise, of stone cracking as it ground against stone, and Isabela pointed at the ceiling. Both women stared in horror as the ceiling began to slowly descend upon them.

_To Be Continued_...

* * *

><p>BONUS:<p>

"You're absolutely _sure_ that you heard two splashes?" asked Varric for the third time as he strode quickly along the path.

"Yes, Varric. I'm positive they both went into the water," sighed Aveline, trotting behind him.

They jogged in silence, looking for a way down. Finally, they came across a shallow incline, with a growth of vines that led down. Aveline took a double handful of the vines and tugged hard, testing their strength. Satisfied, she motioned for Varric to climb down.

"Aveline, are you sure about this?" he asked.

"It's not ideal, but we must find them as soon as possible. If they're injured, they'll need our help," the woman reasoned.

"It's not that, I understand the gravity of the situation. But... do we really need to climb down on vines?" Varric was being evasive. Aveline narrowed her eyes.

"Nervous, Varric?" she asked.

"Heights make me a bit nervous," admitted the dwarf.

"It's not that far down, and it looks like it levels out a bit. This will save us some time," reasoned Aveline.

Varric still looked skittish. She sighed in annoyance.

"What is it, Varric?" she asked, exasperated.

With an absolutely straight face, he replied, "While I can appreciate their practical application in my storytelling, I absolutely hate cliffhangers."

* * *

><p><em>Author's Note: This story ended up being a lot longer than I had originally planned (as well as taking a lot longer to write to boot), but it was a rather large undertaking. Yes, I am fully aware of the irony of naming the story after a small, bite-sized appetizer. I wanted to create a tale which addressed some of the things in Act 2 of the game, as well as examine that initial period of romance between my two favorite girls from Dragon Age 2. Fear not. There is a continuation of this story planned, and it will be written. I hope that you will forgive the cliffhanger. <em>

_Some of you may note that Hawke is a mage. Yes, I finally clarified Hawke's class this time. It was completely intentional that I had hidden it for so long, because I wanted her to be potentially anyone's Hawke. In this story, she's a mage because of a promise I made to someone about a scene, and it was just right for this story. If you look hard enough, I'm sure you'll be able to figure it out._

_A heartfelt thank you to all of my pre-readers. You make this all possible. If you wish to be a pre-reader, send me a PM or e-mail me at hoorayforicecream(at)yahoo(dot)com. All I ask is that you be honest and timely in your responses, and all will be well. _

_Have I ever mentioned how much I adore Tutchangers? She is an absolutely fantastic artist that has offered to draw some art for the Snacking series. You can see her totally gorgeous work at tutchangers(dot)deviantart(dot)com. She's already started, and has done an utterly fantastic piece called "Cupcakes", after the story of the same name. If you're reading this, Ixia I love you!_

_So the burning question at this point must be "When is the next story going to come out?" Honestly, I am not sure. I've got the beginning and the end, and now I have to work on connecting point A to point B. Don't worry about whether I'll write it; I definitely will. I will say, however, that the longer it takes, the longer the story will be (as you may have guessed with this one). So... chin up and keep a weather-eye on the horizon. The next part will be along sooner than you think. Cheers._


	9. Primo

Primo

by hoorayforicecream

The first thing Isabela felt was the heat. It was a gentle warmth that radiated through her body, starting near her belly, but spreading to her chest, legs and arms. It would have felt quite pleasant, if not for the second sensation assaulting her nerves - discomfort. The floor was cold, hard stone, and it leeched the warmth from her back. She sighed in disappointment, realizing that the chances of it being an unpleasant dream had dwindled to nearly nothing. She took a breath and took stock of her situation. A rather heavy weight pressed down on her body. The thing on top of her stirred, and she winced as something hard and solid jabbed her in the breast. She cracked an eye open, and her eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness.

_"Hawke, no! Stop!"_

_Hawke stepped toward her. The pressure plate went down, and a horrible grinding noise erupted from the walls. Ancient machinery moved and thrashed behind the walls, as flecks of stone and rubble were dislodged from above. Both women stared as the ceiling slowly began to descend upon them._

She shifted again, and the uncomfortable jabbing sensation ended. She looked down at Hawke, sprawled over her body. One of the menacing-looking metal spikes from Hawke's shoulder armor was pressing against her left breast. One mystery solved. Hawke appeared to be unconscious. Isabela rolled the Champion onto her back, and quickly examined her lover's body. Nothing appeared to be broken or out of place.

_Isabela glanced quickly at the carvings etched into the plate on which she stood. Something clicked. The images weren't ancient letters at all, but halves of a whole. She looked up quickly and her peripheral vision picked up a subtle movement. She flexed her legs and prepared to move. She knew she had only one chance to get it right, save the girl from certain death, and be the big damn hero in the situation. If she failed, she and her lover would be crushed, skewered and roasted. She grinned a little. Not a bad way to celebrate their meeting._

As the pirate leaned over the prone woman's body, she could feel the gentle warmth of the Ferelden seeping through her clothing, and the soft rise and fall of her ribcage as she breathed. She took a moment to brush a lock of Hawke's tousled hair out of her face, and leaned down to steal a kiss. Then she stopped short.

Hawke's lips were puckered.

She sighed, and used her thumb and forefinger to squeeze Hawke's cheeks toward each other, making the Champion's puckered lips distend like a fish's. Hawke made a whimpering noise, but Isabela did not relent.

"You could have told me you were awake, you know," grumbled the pirate.

"I'm sowwee," pursed Hawke through her forcefully puckered lips. Isabela finally released her, but before the Champion could do anything to relieve her smarting cheeks, the pirate kissed her quickly and forcefully.

_She muttered a quick prayer to whatever gods might have been listening, and launched herself forward toward the Champion. For a moment, her heart threatened to jump into her chest, and she was afraid that the last thing she'd see in this life was Hawke's surprised face as she dashed towards the woman. A heartbeat later, she was vindicated. She was alive, and her guess was correct!_

_She reached Hawke, grabbed the woman's outstretched wrist, then forcibly pulled the surprised woman toward the movement she had spotted. The archway she had seen before was not merely a decoration, but a door! The stone door was rising from the ground, and they had scant seconds to get through it before the ceiling got through them. She pointed at the doorway and hauled on Hawke's arm as hard as she could. The Champion broke into a clumsy run, as Isabela half pulled, half dragged her along. _

_Isabela couldn't spare a glance behind as she kept moving toward the doorway. She ducked her head and was about to go through, when she felt a sharp jerk and nothing but dead weight behind her. Hawke had never quite gained her footing, and had fallen just outside the doorway. The ceiling was grinding down and nearly upon them. Isabela panicked._

"How did you know it would be safe?" asked the Champion after Isabela released her.

"There weren't any bones on the plate itself," Isabela reasoned. "Whoever blundered into the trap must have died when they left the plate, but someone must have been able to get off it. Then I looked at the carvings." Isabela drew a shape in the air.

"It looks like a letter," observed Hawke.

"Yes, but look at the shape of it. If I do this, it isn't a letter at all," continued the pirate, finishing the shape.

"It's a circle!" Hawke exclaimed.

"Right. And between the two plates was a mysterious archway with a circle carved into the stone," Isabela added.

"You certainly gambled there," smirked Hawke.

"Given the circumstances, it was either die to the traps, or die slightly _later_ to the traps. I chose to risk dying to the traps," agreed the pirate.

"And that bit at the end?" asked Hawke, playfully.

"That bit at the end was because I went through all this trouble just to find you a treasure hunt, and I'll be damned if you die on me before we find that treasure," scoffed Isabela. "After all the work I've put into you, I'd have a hell of a time training a replacement."

_Hawke had fallen and skidded to a stop. She was scrambling to get up, but her feet weren't finding the purchase she needed. Isabela looked about desperately, before she grabbed Hawke's extended wrist with both hands, and planted her foot on the other side of the archway. She threw herself backward as hard as she could, pulling upward with all of her might, bracing her powerful legs against the arch. She screamed as she forcibly hauled Hawke up and through the arch just before the ceiling came down, and fell back onto the hard stone floor with Hawke directly on top of her. The room was silent, with the last of the machinery creaking to a stop. Isabela breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed, taking a moment to rest._

"So what now?" asked the Champion.

"Now we find our way out of here. The tide's coming in, so we can't go back the way we came," said the pirate. "And we still haven't found the treasure."

"Onward it is, then," Hawke agreed, getting to her feet.

* * *

><p>The two walked in silence, holding hands "so as not to get separated," Isabela had told herself. The head of Hawke's staff provided a warm blue light, and they walked from the entryway through a narrow corridor.<p>

"Tell me more about this pirate," said Hawke, finally breaking the silence.

"Haven't you already..." began Isabela. She paused. "Oh, you meant du Cuore."

Hawke nodded.

"He was the most successful pirate on the Waking Sea. I don't mean to say he was rich. Many pirates get rich, it only takes one successful raid to become wealthy. Usually they get poor or dead shortly after becoming rich," Isabela remarked. "du Cuore was different though. He had a mind on him, that one. He was shrewd. He was one of the founding members of the Raiders. He sailed the Waking Sea nearly two hundred years ago, and managed to command his own fleet of pirates."

"So what made him so successful?" Hawke wondered. She tugged at the scarf around her neck.

"He had foresight. He understood what it took to lead men, and what was important. And he had a magic compass."

"A magic compass?" repeated the Champion.

"The stories say that du Cuore was wealthy beyond any imagining. His magic compass would lead him to any treasure he wished, and he was smart enough to spend it to consolidate his power. He hired men and paid them well, because he knew he could always get more by robbing the richest cargo ships."

Hawke paused a moment to think. Isabela glanced back at the woman, and stopped walking when she noticed Hawke was visibly sweating.

"Are you alright, sweet thing?" asked the pirate, concerned.

"I'm fine," panted Hawke. She was breathing heavily. "Please, continue," she said.

"As du Cuore aged, he became more and more eccentric. He became paranoid, sending away all of his loyal men one by one on trumped up charges, until only his first mate remained. du Cuore spent thousands of sovereigns building his fortress. It was meant to be impregnable. Legend has it that he paid seven Tevinter magisters to craft him magical defenses for his fortress. I suppose that part _is_ true, eh?"

Isabela paused, concerned about Hawke's hand had grown cold and clammy. She looked back at the woman when, to her horror, Hawke staggered one final step and fell forward. The pirate barely managed to catch the Ferelden woman, wobbling under the added weight.

"You'd better just be trying very hard to get another kiss, Hawke," grumbled Isabela. She placed a hand on the groaning Champion's forehead. Hawke was burning up. As Isabela dragged her lover to a sitting position against the wall, Hawke's staff fell from her nerveless fingers and the light it had cast flickered and vanished. As the cheery blue light faded, Isabela's eyes adjusted and a dim, sickly green light rose to take its place. The light was emanating from what appeared to be runes carved into the walls the way they had come. They were brightest in Hawke's immediate area, and were losing brightness the further away they were from woman. The light shimmered and pulsed, almost as if it were flowing.

"Lyrium..." gasped Hawke. Isabela quickly patted Hawke's form down, trying to find a lyrium potion. Hawke put a hand on Isabela's forearm.

"No... lyrium etchings... there," she panted, pointing one trembling finger down the hallway. Isabela narrowed her eyes and followed the line from Hawke's finger. She saw two lines of pulsing green energy stream from the runes on the wall along narrow grooves carved into the ceiling, running further down the hallway.

"Well, whatever it is, it's probably the source of our problems," reasoned Isabela, hefting one of Hawke's arms around her shoulder, and helping the woman to her feet. The pirate could feel the Champion's lean body shivering violently against her side. She quickened their pace.

"When this is over, you're going to repay me with a full body massage," grumped Isabela as she pushed onward. Hawke began to moan, and the pirate increased the pace. In the distant darkness, she could see a swirling green light at the end of the lines of energy. She moved toward it as quickly as she could. As the pair approached, Hawke's moans came increasingly louder. Isabela sat her against the nearest wall and examined the source of the power.

It was a statue of a kneeling woman, fashioned out of some reddish stonework. The channels carved along the ceiling came down the walls and circled the base of the statue, and pulsing green energy weaved its way around and into its empty glowing eye sockets. A green gemstone set into its forehead was gaining luminescence as the seconds passed.

"Hawke, I really need your big brain for this one. Do you know what..." Isabela began, turning toward the Champion before a jet of flame shot past her head that barely missed her ear by centimeters.

Hawke stood before her, in a wide-legged combat stance. The shakes were gone, and a scowl had fixed itself on her otherwise lovely face. But the most striking thing was that her normally mischievous and cheerful bright eyes were dull, flat, and had begun glowing with eerie green light. The woman's arms and legs moved with jerking, uneven motions, more like a marionette than a person. Hawke awkwardly raised one fist and it erupted in flames. She held other hand open in front, and wisps of cold and ice sprang from it.

"Oh, _balls_," Isabela sighed .

Hawke launched herself at the pirate with her flaming fist extended.

"Can't we talk about this?" wailed Isabela, as she ducked Hawke's flaming fist. The champion was moving faster than she usually did. Usually when the two practiced any kind of physical combat, Isabela was the clear victor. Those sessions usually ended with pleasant, sweat-soaked wrestling sessions complete with tension-relieving baths afterwards. Isabela thought that this match would sadly not have a similar outcome.

"Snap out of it!" shouted Isabela, as she stepped into the Champion's stance. The canny pirate hooked one arm across Hawke's chest and over the far shoulder, then pressed her shoulder into the Champion's armpit. Isabela threw her weight forward and used her hip as a lever, slamming Hawke onto her back. Isabela looked down as Hawke's scowl deepened. Then the pirate screamed.

Hawke touched Isabela's near leg with her icy hand, and the pain was excruciating. Jagged ice crystals encased her ankle, and her right foot felt like it had been stabbed by a thousand tiny barbed needles. Isabela rolled away from the prone woman, and got unsteadily to her feet. Her ankle had begun to feel numb. She grimaced.

"A full body massage _and_ a bath. With rose petals and scented oils," Isabela growled. Hawke had risen again and started moving toward her again with that same jerking motion as before. A motion in the pirate's peripheral vision caught her eye - the gemstone on the red statue was bathing the rest of the area in much brighter green light.

"Well, I always was the best when it came to breaking things," muttered Isabela, drawing a curved throwing knife. She feinted as if she was lunging at Hawke. Hawke raised her arms defensively, and Isabela immediately spun and hurled the knife at the statue instead. The blade flew end over end, moments away from breaking the gem, until Hawke dove in front of the blade and it sank deeply into her exposed shoulder. The possessed woman jerked, rivulets of blood oozeing from the wound and down her arm. The flames on her hand dissipated and her arm hung limp at her side. Hawke snarled at it angrily, but her arm would not move.

"I guess that makes us even," quipped the pirate, hobbling into position on her good leg. "You know what the worst thing about this is? You aren't even in a position to enjoy the witty banter," continued the pirate.

Carefully noting Hawke's movements, Isabela continued, "This is just like that time when you were dead set on buying that hat. I told you that orange is most definitely _not_ your color, but would you listen to me? No, you had to wear it to that awful dinner party that you dragged me to."

Hawke snarled a response and hurled several large chunks of jagged ice from her good arm. Isabela twisted to avoid the projectiles, and continued her taunting.

"We didn't even get to have _sex _that night! You had me, crying out for you, _aching_ for your touch, and then, of all the times for it to happen, Anders bursts in demanding your help with something or other about templars in Darktown. He didn't even have the decency to look away while we were dressing!" complained the pirate as she circled the snarling Hawke. Hawke hurled another handful of wicked-looking ice shards, and Isabela quickly tumbled out of their path. She rolled to her feet again, and looked at the furious Hawke with a flippant grin.

"At least now you're finally getting really physical. I think sometimes you just treat me like I'm some sort of porcelain doll," she shrugged. Hawke let loose a primal scream, and threw a javelin of ice at her. Isabela winked, and said ,"Gotcha."

The canny pirate ducked, and the ice shard struck the statue behind Isabela in the brightly glowing green gemstone. The stone shattered, throwing both women to the floor in an explosion of force, as the light faded and the energy in the air dissipated. Isabela pushed herself to a sitting position, and looked about.

Hawke had collapsed into a heap, but was breathing. The statue's gemstone was shattered, and it looked like there was a passage behind the statue that led to the next portion of the tomb. Isabela inspected her ankle.

"Well, I guess the flying leaps are out of the question for now," she said. The pirate crawled over to the Ferelden and rolled her onto her back. The woman looked very pale. Isabela brushed her fingers over Hawke's lips, hoping to feel them puckering, half-expecting her eyes to open any moment and that infuriating, wonderful grin to manifest on that lovely face of hers. When there was no response, the pirate sighed and took Hawke's hand in her own.

"At least I can talk this time. Do you remember the last time I asked you to stay with me? I was a wreck," she chuckled. She stroked the Champion's forehead, remembering the events leading to that fateful night.

* * *

><p>It was a mistake. It was a mistake, and she knew it. After the Arishok, the Qunari, and everything had happened, she knew she couldn't remain there. Not without that damnable relic. The others would reassure her. They would tell her that everything would be alright, that she'd be fine, that they'd protect her. They'd help her with her day to day life, play diamondback with her till the wee hours of the morning, bring her silly little gifts, buy her drinks at the Hanged Man, and even massage her feet after a long day of daring exploits. They'd be there for her whenever she needed them, even to the point of fighting a bloody duel with one of the three leaders of the most dangerous nation in Thedas for her. They'd wrap their arms around her, hold her close, and pleasure her worries away like they were simply wiping away a tear. They would draw her to them, even to the point of scaring her with how comfortable the arrangement had become, how bloody <em>right <em>it felt. They'd never judge her or make her do anything that, deep down, she wasn't willing to do, but they would bring out the best in her, qualities thought long-buried and previously surfacing only on her most capricious whim. They'd provide care, acceptance, joy, and lo... affection unconditionally, and the very thought of it made her heart _sing_.

And then they would die.

Maybe it wasn't going to be death in a pitched battle. They were becoming fearsome in their reputations, after all. They were slayers of darkspawn, dragons, thieves, blood mages, even abominations. They had killed things from stories that parents scared their children with, that youths told each other around their fires at night, that scholars and poets put to song and verse.

But they would still die. Everyone has to eat. A single spilled vial of something, a chance touch, or a long-range archer's arrow. She'd seen it happen before. A trusted friend and confidant, one who had taught her everything he knew gleaned from decades on the sea, clutching at his throat as his face blackened and bulged. A former lover, with eyes glassy and face pale, now unable to even speak, move or even use the privy without assistance. Her old mentor, the man who had taught her to wield a short blade in the first place, found with a dozen small, bleeding wounds that were all self-inflicted. All faces that would rarely haunt her dreams, not that she'd ever admit it to anyone, least of all them. They'd never asked why she'd never stayed the night, and she was always grateful to them for not pressing the issue.

She knew they would die. And she could not let that happen to them, not while she still breathed. So she did the only thing she could - she removed the source of the danger. You cut off the snake's head, and not pieces of the tail, after all. Without her presence, the danger wouldn't be there. And so she left.

It had been easy to go back to an empty life of shallow, meaningless alcohol and sex. She had little trouble proving to a decent ship's captain that she was more capable a sailor than any man in Ostwick. It was easy to just let go, and ignore the gnawing emptiness inside her, and lose herself in a day-to-day routine. She'd give herself little treats, and kept busy to avoid thinking about it. She settled into a comfortable feeling of numbness, with her days filled with sailing, and her nights with alcohol and random and shallow sexual encounters. And so what if she happened to prefer taking dark-haired, bright-eyed women to bed? Being on a ship that constantly sailed the Waking Sea had helped keep her profile low, and it all seemed fine, until one day the captain did exactly what they'd done. While docked in Hercinia, it seemed a man had come looking for her, and the kindly captain had taken it upon himself to help her with her problems by telling him he knew no such woman.

He never woke up after going to bed that night.

They'd been the subject of rumors and news that reached far and wide. The mighty Champion of Kirkwall had been making a name for herself. Helping the common people, killing slavers, rescuing damsels, and single-handedly making the Free Marches a better place. She still chuckled at the rumor that the Champion was in love with the Guard Captain; she never thought that it would become so popular when she had started it one drunken night at the Hanged Man after losing four hands at Wicked Grace to the red-headed firebrand.

But with no job, no ship, and nowhere left to go to ground but one, she'd made a decision. One she tried to bolster with copious amounts of alcohol, but almost instantly regretted when she heard a familiar voice that made shivers run down her spine after not having heard it for so long. They were some of the sweetest words she'd ever heard.

"Oh, that looks like the house special! Whiskey flavored with rat droppings!"

She steeled herself. The last thing she wanted to do was lose control.

"You don't have to keep checking up on me. I'm fine."

"I'm just here for the rat-flavored whiskey," Hawke said innocently. She stuck out her lower lip like she always did when she was feeling impish. It was adorable.

Isabela sighed.

"Remember what you said after that mess with the Qunari?" she asked.

"I'm proud of you for doing the right thing," Hawke nodded.

That was part of what grated on the pirate. Despite making it feel easier to do the right thing, it also dredged up all of those painful memories.

"It may have been the right thing, but it was also the dumb thing. The relic was mine. I should've kept running," Isabela sighed.

Hawke smiled at her. "I couldn't have done it without you," she said simply.

"Bullshit. You could've stormed the Keep and slaughtered all those Qunari if you had to," Isabela replied, taking a sip of her whiskey. "You and Aveline. I mean, look at her—she's a woman-shaped battering ram," she continued.

Isabela took another sip and paused for a moment, gathering her thoughts.

"The fact is... you and I have nothing in common anymore. You're a Champion, and I'm just a lying, thieving snake," she finally said.

"Whatever you think you are, I still care about you. It must have been hard to give up the relic, and I appreciate it," said Hawke. Even without looking at the Ferelden woman, Isabela knew that she had that kind look in her eyes and the easy smile, the same look that she always gave that made the pirate feel weak in the knees.

"Whatever comes, you have my support," she added.

Isabela tried to sell it a bit more, but she couldn't stop the smile from creeping onto her face. "Well, perhaps it's time to stop hiding, and I do miss the trouble we used to get into," she reasoned, looking off into the distance. "Tell you what. I'll be here if you need me," she agreed, giving Hawke's hand a quick squeeze.

Isabela turned to leave, but Hawke held her hand firm. The pirate jerked to a stop, and looked at her hand, still firmly held by the Champion's. She looked up from the hands and into Hawke's piercing gaze. Hawke's eyes drew her in and she couldn't move. She struggled to find something to say, something to do, but she was lost in those deep pools of blue. And then Hawke kissed her.

The feelings rushed in like a wave; in that one moment, the past three years had washed away, and it felt like she had never left. The kiss started off gentle, but grew hungrier, more passionate as the moments passed. Isabela found herself clutching her lover, needing to feel her warmth, to get back that feeling of closeness she had been missing. Hawke's arms encircled her, comfortably supporting her neck and the small of her back.

It wasn't enough. The kisses came rapidly, one after another, and they had only set fire to her belly, igniting the flames of desire that had lay dormant for over three years. Isabela took a step back, breaking the kiss, but not eye contact. Hawke looked at her questioningly, but Isabela had not let go of Champion's hand as she took a second step back. She tugged gently, and Hawke moved with her.

Hawke pinned her against the door to the pirate's room, and their tongues danced the _sar-sara_ as Isabela feverishly groped for the latch. She finally got it open and stumbled backward into the room. Hawke slammed the door shut with her foot, as the women urgently worked their clothing off and pushed each other onto the small, lumpy mattress.

The act wasn't gentle. They made love with the ferocity of wild animals; they vented three long years of pent up desire, passion, frustration and rage over the course of the next few hours. Every touch, every caress, every kiss that they shared steadily wiped away each trace of the time they had lost while apart. While she would never admit it out loud, each wave of pleasure she crested reverberated through her heart and soul, the deepest parts of her being that had been quietly locked away for years. When it was over, Isabela lay back in the bed with her eyes half-lidded and a lazy smile plastered to her face. The sweat-slicked sheets were bunched up about her middle, and she lazily enjoyed the hazy, warm feeling of bliss that enveloped her. Hawke rose from the bed and bent to pick up her discarded and somewhat torn clothing. Isabela was mesmerized by the woman's back, from the broad shoulders, lean muscled back and arms, all the way down to her pert derriere.

"It's good to have you back," said the Champion, as she began to dress.

Isabela wanted to respond, but words failed her. She opened her mouth, but her throat was dry, and she could not form the words on her tongue.

Hawke finished dressing, and began to lace up her boots like she had always done. The boots were always the last thing she put on. Isabela's mind kept screaming at her to let it go, to leave well enough alone, but it could not drown out the singular sound of her own heartbeat filling her ears.

Hawke turned to leave, and Isabela shut her eyes tightly and reached out, grabbing Hawke's gloved hand. The Champion looked to her questioningly, and Isabela could only look down. Perhaps it was the blush on her cheeks, or the nervous fidgeting she was doing, but Hawke was struck by the vulnerability of the usually-confident pirate. The Champion sat on the edge of the bed, and pulled the glove off of her free hand with her teeth. She unlaced her boots quickly, kicked them off and got back into bed.

"Scoot over," Hawke said, as the pirate pulled the covers over both of their bodies.

And for the first time in years, Isabela had a good night's sleep.

* * *

><p>Isabela stroked Hawke's cheek gently, remembering the warm feelings of comfort. She was jolted out of her reverie when Hawke whispered softly, "Varric... told me later... it wasn't even your room." Isabela's ears perked up, and the relief was plain on her face.<p>

"You were _distracting_ me," said the pirate defensively.

"He paid the room's owner to go elsewhere that night," giggled Hawke faintly.

"Remind me to send him a fruit basket and some wood polish in thanks," snickered Isabela. Hawke giggled, then sighed. "You alright, sweet thing?" asked the pirate.

"My arm hurts," Hawke whined.

"My leg hurts too, so we're even," countered Isabela. "What _was_ that, anyway?"

Hawke heaved herself into a sitting position. She leaned against her lover. "Those magisters you were telling me about were no legend. That was blood magic," she murmured. "The staining in all of those channels and dark coloration is dried blood. This trap was intended to stop any mage entering this place by taking control of her mind."

"It certainly seemed to work," sniffed Isabela. "I suppose I should just be happy that you've got lousy aim. Thankfully, you have other uses," she smirked. Hawke raised an eyebrow.

"You still owe me a full body massage and a bath, with rose petals and scented oils," murmured Isabela as she rose to her feet. Hawke whimpered in displeasure as her support gave way.

"I... what?" complained Hawke as the pirate pulled her to her feet.

"Don't worry your pretty little head about it, we have a treasure to find," said Isabela.

* * *

><p>After securing her ankle with her waist sash as a makeshift brace, Isabela was able to move about unaided. Hawke's arm was in worse shape, however. Bandages had stopped the bleeding, but moving her arm proved too painful.<p>

"It's alright, I should be fine like this," she reassured Isabela, as she finished tying her arm in a sling.

Hawke's staff cast sufficient light to continue traversing the corridor. It seemed they had been wandering for hours, as the halls seemed to blend into each other. As Isabela gingerly kept pace, she began feeling the sensation she'd seen a particular turn before. The somber stone walls and floor were etched with the images of crying men and women in chains, and they appeared to be going in a specific direction. Hawke pointed the way, and they followed the graven images; each was shackled by chains and crying. Gradually, Isabela noticed that the background of the etchings had changed; they were in some sort of city before, but now the background had shifted to stylized waves. At the end of the etchings were five pirates with swords carved into the wall, and all the nearby slave carvings bowing to them. There appeared to be an indentation behind the center pirate, who bore a compass.

The Rivaini woman moved forward and examined the indentation above the compass-holder's raised hand, and found a small catch inside, hidden from view. Isabela shared a look with Hawke, who nodded. She took a breath, tensed to move, and gently pulled on the catch. It released, and the women heard the rumbling sound of stonework moving. Isabela looked about wildly in case of another trap, but Hawke pointed at the carvings.

Small bowls had protruded from their bases, and at the bottom of each bowl were labeled numbers, one through five, with the compass bearer being number one. A jingling sound greeted their ears, as silver coins, one after another, fell from a small opening in the ceiling and formed a small pile of ten coins. Isabela looked to Hawke.

Hawke glanced at the coin, and raised an eyebrow. "At last, I can give up this life of danger and live out my days in luxury," she deadpanned.

"They're definitely here for something," countered Isabela.

"What do you suppose they're for?" asked Hawke.

"It's clearly a riddle of some sort," reasoned Isabela.

"Do all pirates love riddles? I remember that you wanted to challenge Velasco to one as well," smirked Hawke.

"Riddles are often used to test a pirate's intelligence and cunning," answered Isabela with a smile. "It's why I knew it would work on Velasco."

"By making 'where's your boss' one of the riddles?" asked Hawke, raising an eyebrow.

"Well... I'm not that good at the... planning... thing," Isabela admitted . "Maybe your cunning wit can help us figure this out."

"These coins must be meant for the bowls. Perhaps it's meant to be payment," said Hawke. "Five pirates, ten coins. Two coins each?"

"That wouldn't work. First of all, the captain's share is always the largest, and second, the captain only needs enough support to put down a mutiny," reasoned Isabela.

"What happens in a mutiny?" asked Hawke.

"The crew votes, and if enough votes are against the captain, it's a plank-walking," answered Isabela.

"There are five pirates, and the captain needs... two other votes, I suppose," observed Hawke. "The captain would have to buy those votes, wouldn't he? With the coin." She reached for the coins before Isabela grabbed her hand.

"Not so fast, sweet thing. You're thinking like a pirate, but not completely like a pirate," cautioned Isabela. She wrapped her hand in a scrap of cloth left over from the bandage-making, and lifted one of the coins. Examining it in the light, she carefully put it back down.

"I think it's Adder's Kiss. It's a little slow acting, but if we just tried to take the coin and run, we'd never make it out alive," she said. Then she thought a moment. "If we could make it through the traps and shut stone doors," she added.

Hawke had her chin in her hand, thinking it over. "He wouldn't pay his second in command, because the second would become the captain if he was deposed. He'd have to pay the one who stands to gain the most from keeping himself in power... that should be the third. And he'd need one more vote... which would have to be... the fourth or the fifth. The fifth, because the fifth would never stand to gain anything from the votes, and thus would always vote against whomever the mutiny was called against, unless he was offered coin. Then, including himself, three votes of five, keeping his captaincy."

Isabela looked at her with mouth open. "How did you..." she began.

"You didn't just bring me along for my charming good looks, you know," murmured Hawke.

"Your looks are quite charming though," giggled Isabela as she dropped one coin into the third and fifth bowls, and the remaining eight into the captain's bowl.

"If this du Cuore is as savvy as you make him out to be, I would expect he'd be able to pocket the lion's share of the coin," reasoned the Champion. As she spoke, the room rumbled again, and each of the stone bowls was pulled back into the base of the carving. The walls parted, and dust sprinkled down from the ceiling. The sound of rapidly flowing water filled the room. The chamber was circular, with stonework bridges built over a series of waterfalls. Clear water pooled in a basin near the doorway. Isabela quickly washed her hands and the scrap of cloth she had used to handle the coins and the pair entered the chamber. The intricate stone bridges had patterns inlaid, showing ships attacking other ships, taking slaves and following the lead ship. The bridges led to a circular dais in the next chamber, with a raised platform in the center of it. Three large tables formed a triangle around a large sarcophagus in the center in the intricate, circular room.

Hawke walked to the nearest of the tables. She examined it carefully. On it lay piles of coin, loose gemstones, jewelry, and gold-wrought trinkets of varying craftsmanship and origin. She reached for a spectacular-looking golden ring fashioned like a coiling dragon with a ruby the size of her thumbnail clutched in its jaws.

"Wait," commanded Isabela, grabbing Hawke's wrist. "Something's not right here," the pirate said.

"Isn't this the fabulous treasure we were after? There must be thousands of sovereigns at the very minimum," the Champion replied.

"Of course it is, but it can't be this easy. Look at these other tables," cautioned Isabela. She pointed.

One of the tables scrolls, tomes and books piled up and covering it. The titles were barely legible, much of it written in ancient Tevinter script. The spines of some of the books were titled in what appeared to be the harsh Qunari language. The scroll cases were made from the finest leather, and many of them were inlaid with gold, with pearl clasps. Several of the loose scrolls appeared to be faded maps, mostly of the oceans. Isabela's eyes widened when she saw them.

"Nautical charts of the Waking Sea... if he fully charted the entire sea, it would be invaluable. If they're accurate, you could drop anchor in the perfect places, run your enemies aground, and always take the fastest path. Hawke, these are unbelievable!" she exclaimed. She turned excitedly toward the Champion, whose eyes were staring in disgust at the third table. Isabela followed her gaze, and recoiled slightly at the grisly sight.

The remains of several mummified humans and elves lay draped over each other. Each of them wore slightly faded, but fine silk clothing. They each had shackles on each wrist, with fine, thin chains running from shackle to shackle, anchored on large iron rings built into the stone table itself. Some of the bodies were splayed out as if they had been beaten, and others curled into fetal positions. Two of them were embraced.

"What do you reckon it means?" asked Hawke.

Isabela thought carefully for a moment. "If I had to wager," she began, "I'd say that he's showing the three things that are most important to him." She indicated each table in turn. "Money, knowledge, and sex."

"And he keeps them close. But the compass must be here. Which table would it be on?" wondered Hawke. She moved from table to table.

"I doubt it would be on any of them, to be honest. It's supposed to find any treasure he wanted, so it must be more valuable to him than any of these," Isabela reasoned. She looked to the sarcophagus. "You think he kept it with him?"

"Let's find out," nodded Hawke. Both women braced themselves and pushed as hard as they could on the sarcophagus lid. The heavy stone cover groaned and slowly gave way, exposing its contents for the first time in centuries. The grinding sound of stone on stone echoed through the chamber, as the noise reverberated throughout the network of rooms and corridors. An acrid, rancid odor washed over them. Hawke coughed. "Oh, that is _foul_," she choked.

"You spend a few hundred years in a stone box and see how good _you_ smell," joked the pirate. She took a sniff and made a face. "What in blazes did they bury him in? Old socks and rancid yogurt?"

Isabela waved her hands to help disperse the smell, then peered under the lid. She reached in and tugged. "It's... stuck," she complained. She tugged harder. "I think it's giving..."

She heard a snap, and stumbled backward. Clutched in her hand was a small, rectangular box. It was dingy, scratched, and looked like it had been treated roughly for its entire life. The box looked like it could have been made of obsidian, but the dull, gray sides were covered in scratches and tiny abrasions. "Let's have a look," said Isabela, pulling back the box's lid.

Under the lid, a dingy black needle on an unadorned white stone sat suspended in some sort of fluid. Isabela pursed her lips, following the direction as the needle pointed at the gold and silver behind Hawke.

"Does it work?" asked the Champion.

"I think so. It's pointing at the gold," said Isabela.

"Ooh, let me see," Hawke said excitedly. She quickly walked over to look at the compass needle. She frowned. "Look, it's not pointing at the gold, " she pointed out.

Isabela looked back down at the compass. The compass had begun pointing at the scroll table. She frowned.

"Perhaps I'm affecting it. I do value knowledge," Hawke offered. She stepped back, and away from the scrolls and the gold. Isabela followed the compass point carefully, and her frown deepened.

"It's pointing at the sex table now, isn't it?," smirked Hawke. Isabela looked at her sharply. Hawke continued, "We're stuck in the tomb of an ancient pirate full of deadly traps and dangerous monsters, and you're thinking about the _sex table_?"

Isabela flushed. "I am not! It's not always about sex with me, you know!" she said, embarrassed.

"What was it you said? 'Sometimes it's about sex with other people' I believe?" giggled Hawke.

The pirate was silent, looking down at the compass with an unreadable expression. Her cheeks reddened.

"Don't worry, Isabela. When we get out of this, I'll make it up to you by wearing that outfit you like. The straps too," soothed the Champion, as she walked over and placed a reassuring hand on the pirate's arm. As she did, she glanced down at the compass needle, pointing generally toward the sex table. But the needle wasn't pointing at the table directly, but rather at Hawke herself. She took notice of this, and tried walking around the pirate, keeping her eyes on the needle. She made a full circle, with the needle pointing at her the entire time. The moment passed in silence, and Isabela's flush became progressively darker.

Hawke giggled, and snatched the compass out of the pirate's hand and held it a moment, examining it carefully. "It's broken," she declared.

The statement jolted Isabela out of her reverie. "What?" she asked. Hawke held the compass up and indicated the needle with a nod of her head.

"It's broken. I think something's affecting the magic. Look," Hawke directed. The compass needle firmly pointed at Isabela. Hawke walked around Isabela in a slow circle, and Isabela could see the arrow firmly pointed at her the entire time. "See? It just points at the nearest person," said Hawke. "I'm sure we can find something to fix it. Perhaps Sandal could-"

Hawke was cut off by the pirate's sudden embrace from behind. Isabela held her, pressing cheek to the back of her neck, and both arms wrapped firmly around her sides and hips. Hawke smiled at the pleasant sensation of breasts, hips, and belly pressing against her back. She pressed herself back against Isabela briefly, tucked the compass into the crook of her injured arm, and placed her good hand on top of the pirate's as the warmth flowed between the women in a moment of silence. Isabela opened her mouth to speak, a mischievous look in her eye, before her ears perked up. The words on the tip of her tongue vanished, her eyes widened and her muscles tensed. Hawke could sense something amiss in the pirate's reactions, but barely had time to process before it happened. Then Isabela moved.

It was almost instinct. Years of dueling had trained the canny swashbuckler to pick up on even the tiniest movements and hints. It was the reason she excelled at reading body language; the skill had been practically ingrained into her subconscious. The ground shifted slightly beneath her feet, an almost imperceptible movement. But to Isabela, reaching out with every nerve in her body to feel as much as she could of the moment, it was as if a Qunari had screamed it was coming. Time slowed down, and she felt the crack appearing in the stonework beneath her feet. As the stone began to split, Isabela tightened her grip and launched herself as much force as she could muster to one side.

The shooting pain arcing through her injured ankle reminded her of its condition. She grimaced and pushed through the pain, as she carried herself and Hawke several feet to one side. A moment later, the ground screamed, then cracked. The fissure started near the sarcophagus and shot across the chamber floor like lightning. The sound of stone crushing stone echoed through the chamber, as the entire room began to shake and rumble. The women landed in a heap scant feet from the widening crevice, and Isabela threw her weight to one side, rolling the two of them away from the danger. Dust and smaller rocks fell from the ceiling, dislodged from the ceiling by the trembling. The bedrock hissed as it tore itself apart, and a large chunk of the chamber floor, along with the scrolls on the table sank from view into the churning water pooling below them.

Isabela pushed the Champion to move, as the two scrambled to crawl away from the cracks spidering from the central rift. Hawke yelled something, and gestured with the compass. She pointed at an alcove carved into the wall that appeared safe from the falling debris. The stone archway built over it was holding, and there were no visible cracks appearing from the strain of tons upon tons of rock pressing upon it. Hawke scrambled to her feet, with Isabela quickly behind her, when another massive tremor shook the floor, widening the cracks and throwing them both to their knees. Hawke gave a cry of dismay as she lost her grip on the compass, as the small black box bounced and slid from her good hand. The second massive stone table, chained bodies and all, fell from view. Isabela heard a loud splash as it plunged into the water below and sank beneath the waves, taking its grim passengers with it.

Isabela tried to stand, but her injured ankle, already aggravated from her earlier acrobatics, gave out and her leg folded. Hawke desperately looped the pirate's arm around her shoulders to try to help Isabela up. As the women struggled to get to their feet, the ground beneath them shifted and the myriad of cracks that had zigzagged across the floor widened. One crack shot between them faster than the eye could blink, and the floor beneath Hawke simply gave way. For Isabela, time felt like it had once again slowed to a snail's pace. She could hear her own heartbeat, as the seconds felt like minutes. Hawke's arm slipped from her waist, and both she and the Ferelden woman fell away from each other as gravity pulled them apart. Isabela desperately snatched at Hawke's hand as the Champion's arm passed by. Her fingers found purchase, and managed to grasp the Ferelden woman's wrist and cuff. The canny pirate brought her other hand up as quickly as she could, doubling her grip on the falling woman's good arm. Hawke's eyes widened as the realization that she was falling dawned on her. Isabela whispered a silent prayer that her grip was strong enough.

Hawke fell and Isabela braced for the jolt as best she could. The impact came, and snapped her forward like a bronto playing tug-of-war. She fell forward and desperately hoped that she'd be able to keep them both from going over the edge. Her body hit the floor, and she heard Hawke scream. Something small and hard bounced off her arm, and clattered to a stop nearby. Isabela tightened her grip on Hawke's arm. She looked down at the frightened Hawke, and remarked "Ugh, what have you been eating?"

"You know, the usual... snacks, cupcakes, pastries," joked Hawke, still dangling from the pirate's grip over the churning water below. "What about the compass?" she asked.

Isabela pursed her lips and began pulling as hard as she could. "What _about_ the compass? There will be time enough for treasure once you're safe!" she grunted.

"The compass is slipping!" cried Hawke as she inched slowly up the precipice. Isabela paid the words no heed, as she concentrated on the task at hand. With a loud grunt, Isabela threw her back into it and finished hauling the Champion's torso over the edge. She turned toward the compass and began to reach for it, when another tremor shook the room. The small, obsidian box slid and jerked just out of reach, but more importantly, Hawke slid back toward the chasm. Isabela immediately grabbed the Champion's belt and yanked her unceremoniously to safety. She turned to the compass, a scant distance away, only to catch a final glimpse as it toppled silently over the edge. The pirate sighed, then scrambled to her feet. Hawke followed as quickly as she could.

Isabela took Hawke's hand and they quickly hobbled to the small alcove under the arch. The space was smaller than it looked, and the two women huddled side by side within the tiny archway. The mountain shook and shuddered, as stone broke from stone, and rubble fell by the wayside. The arch was well constructed, however, and it held against the earth's movement.

"I'm sorry we lost the compass," apologized the Champion.

"Don't be. It was _your_ gift, after all. I've already gotten _mine_ out of all this," laughed Isabela.

"Well, you certainly promised me a worthy treasure hunt," smirked Hawke as the last of the stone bridges cracked and buckled.

"I promised it would be like old times. You didn't specify that we had to survive," giggled Isabela. A particularly violent tremor shook the room.

"We'll live through this yet. I still owe you a massage and a bath," laughed Hawke. She squeezed Isabela around the waist.

"Damn right, you do. And interest on top," the pirate smirked. The walls shook, dislodging fine dust from the ceiling.

"What manner of interest would that be?" smirked Hawke.

"You already promised to wear _that_ outfit, but you have to do it at the Hanged Man," Isabela said solemnly.

Hawke laughed. "Is it too late to hope that we _don't_ survive this?" she wondered aloud. Isabela smiled mischievously and leaned in for a kiss just as the walls began to give way.

* * *

><p>After what seemed like hours, the tremors stopped and the mountainside finally held still. Varric released the exposed tree roots he had been clinging to, and dusted himself off. "You alright up there, Aveline?" he called.<p>

A ways above him, the woman's voice replied "Yes. The weight is no problem so far. It looks like the vines are holding. How are things down there?"

"Oh, you know. Lots of bugs. Smells kind of funny. Hanging over the side of a cliff. The usual," he smirked from his perch. He looked down. He had been about halfway down the moss-covered cliff side, being lowered like a stubby-legged baby in a basket down the side of the cliff when the earthquake had started. He had found himself next to an ancient tree on an outcropping and taken shelter near its roots. It had been several hours since they had lost contact with Isabela and Hawke, and the tide had come in, submerging the small cove that the pirate had dived into.

"I'm getting too old for this shit," he grumbled.

They had walked for two hours while looking for a path down that didn't involve climbing. Aside from a giant spider that thought to make a meal of them, they had found nothing. When they found a slope that they could try to climb down, he and Aveline had argued for an entire hour over how to proceed. As loathe as the dwarf was to admit it, climbing scared the spit out of him. The thought of dangling above all that air with nothing beneath his feet made his stomach churn. Unfortunately, he couldn't argue against forty pounds of steel armor in addition to her normal weight. He was as stable as the next dwarf, and while he was fairly confident he could support her weight, the additional plate armor was the tipping factor. He sighed again.

Aveline managed to find a copse of trees with a good number of strong vines hanging from their branches, and cut them down. After she convinced him of the strength of the vines and her knots, he reluctantly let her demonstrate her plan. She would act as anchor and slowly lower him down the cliff side, hopefully finding a way inside or at least clues to their friends' whereabouts. Another argument ensued, eventually leading to Aveline sitting on Varric and tying him up in her vines before hoisting him up using the tree branches. And while he'd never admit it, he agreed to the harebrained scheme because he recognized the pained expression of worry in her eyes, because he knew he had the same expression in his own.

So, with much grumbling and complaining, he allowed Aveline to strap him into a vine harness and lower down the side of the mountain. He had been lowered about a hundred feet when the shaking had begun. It felt like the insides of the mountain were collapsing in on itself, and Varric wasn't foolish enough to try swinging like some sort of flaming monkey during an earthquake. He walked himself to the nearest outcropping, and took shelter at the tree he had found there. It seemed that great chunks of the cliff side either broke away from the mountain itself, or collapsed in, revealing what appeared to be a network of caverns inside. Several of the lower collapses unleashed waterfalls of varying sizes that poured into the cove below. As he clung to the tree, he chuckled. "There is no way those two aren't involved in this," he muttered to himself with a smile.

Thankfully, the tree's roots were strong enough and it hadn't given way and crushed him during the earthquakes. He waited for several minutes after the tremors stopped, keeping his eyes and ears open for any signs of aftershocks or other dangers . The air was crisp and cool on his skin, with a light breeze coming in from the east. He heard the sounds of the surf below, the gentle spray of salt water on the rocks blending with the sound of water on water as the newly formed waterfalls added a low, pulsing beat to the steady rhythm of the lapping waves. A pair of birds trilled a song in the distance, and the sound carried with it the sounds of a woman giggling.

Varric's eyes widened. He listened carefully, trying to pinpoint the source of the noise. It was faint, very faint, but distinctive, coming from the west, and a little below him. The dwarf tugged on the vine a bit, and Aveline gave him more slack to work with. Varric took a deep breath, and grumbled, "You really should appreciate what I'm doing for you, Hawke," as he began climbing toward the voice. The climbing was a slow process, as the dwarf tested his handholds and footholds carefully, but he did it with his usual steady aplomb. The sounds changed as he approached, becoming more muted and quiet. He paused for a moment, craning his ears to try to pick any clues out from the ambient noise. A woman's sharp exclamation greeted his ears from his left. It was a wordless sound, between a grunt and a moan, but it was there. He scrambled toward it as quickly as he could, when his far handhold gave way. The rocky outcropping crumbled away from the cliff side, splashing into the water below, and Varric nearly fell from the sudden shift in his balance. His vine harness held firm, however, and he managed to secure a second handhold. After the initial panic of losing his footing subsided, Varric realized the small opening that had been revealed provided a small window into the mountain. He approached the hole and smiled. Low, throaty moans were emanating from within the cave, and he recognized the voices. A wave of relief washed over him as he peered into the darkness.

"Aveline, I've got some good news," he shouted up.

" Did you find Hawke? Where is she?" Aveline called down a moment later.

Varric glanced back into the opening, and chuckled before shouting back up, "Yes, I found her. She's coming."

_finis._

BONUS:

Merrill had a smile on her face. Her belly was full of Hawke's scrumptious feast day delicacies, and her evening had been pleasantly spent in the company of her best friends. Best of all, Hawke had enjoyed her gift immensely; the Champion had practically glowed with delight when she received the sylvanwood grip Merrill had painstakingly carved for her staff. Perhaps Hawke would not notice that the elfish script was slightly misspelled. The last of the other remaining guests, Aveline and Donnic, were saying their final goodbyes to Hawke from the foyer, as Isabela sat with both feet propped up on the great table, still laden with feast day delights. The pirate was picking at her teeth with a slender, sharp blade, and had her usual smug smile on her face.

"It sounded like a grand adventure," Merrill sighed wistfully. "Clutching each other in the darkness as the mountainside gave way, finding the ancient pirate's treasure, being rescued at the last moment when all hope seemed lost, and a joyful reunion with your dear friends at the very end," she mused.

Isabela put the knife down and smiled. "It wasn't as glamorous as Varric made it seem," she laughed. "A cold stone archway is hardly a comfortable place to be buried alive."

"Whatever did you do while you were trapped?" asked Merrill, eyes wide.

"Well, at first I had to calm Hawke down. She was clearly terrified. Then we just sort of huddled up close, which led to the glorious, wonderful sex," declared Isabela, matter-of-factly. "Fear for your life does wonders for the... intensity."

"Oh, Varric left that part of the story out," said Merrill, interested. She paused for a moment. "Was that what you decided to give Hawke for her feast day gift? Aveline and Donnic brought that lovely painting of Leandra, and Fenris had his Tevinter wine. I remember you mentioning it before, though" she puzzled.

"No, Kitten. My gift wasn't the sex, though it was quite pleasant," grinned the pirate. "It's just... private," she added, her face slightly coloring.

Merrill leaned forward. She put on her most winning smile, the one that always got her an extra bit of pastry from the local baker. "Ooh, tell me, tell me!" she begged. She internally rejoiced as she saw the pirate's resolve crumble.

Isabela crooked a finger and beckoned the elf girl over. She looked around to ensure there were no prying ears or eyes, before whispering, "We exchanged rings."

Merrill stared at Isabela with wide eyes and an open mouth for a moment. "Congratulations! That's wonderful news, I always hoped you two would exchange rings!" she gushed. Then she cocked her head to one side. "What does exchanging rings mean for humans again? I always forget," she asked, confused.

"Kitten..." Isabela said disapprovingly.

"What?" asked the elf woman. She tried her best to look innocent. Finally, the pirate relented.

Isabela sighed. "Exchanging rings is something humans do to... declare how close they are," she said. "It's symbolic," she added.

"Oh, I think I understand. But you're not wearing a ring, and I didn't see Hawke with one either," observed Merrill, still confused.

Isabela laughed a rich, throaty laugh as Hawke returned from the foyer. "That's because Isabela never does anything normally," sighed the Champion, sitting down between the elf and the pirate.

"Isabela decided that we should pierce our favorite parts of each others' bodies," Hawke said, folding her hands in her lap.

"You agreed to it," accused Isabela, defensively. "And mine hurt like the dickens!" she added. Merrill looked from one woman to the other.

"Well? Where are they?" she asked, her curiosity getting the better of her. Isabela and Hawke shared a significant glance.

"You're sworn to secrecy on this," said Isabela solemnly.

"I swear it," agreed Merrill quickly.

Isabela sighed, and unlaced her corset. Merrill's eyes were glued to the voluptuous pirate's torso as Isabela loosened the corset and pulled her tunic open. Merrill feasted her eyes on Isabela's glorious breasts, marveling at their perkiness as well as their perfect shape and size. Her dark skin provided a beautiful contrast to the simple golden ring that adorned Isabela's left nipple. Merrill blinked. "Your favorite part of Isabela is her left breast?" she asked, confused.

"It's her heart, the part under her breast," explained Hawke. She paused. "I must admit, the breast itself isn't bad either," she added. Isabela playfully slapped her on the shoulder before closing her tunic.

"That's so sweet! But where did Isabela choose to put her ring?" asked Merrill.

Hawke and Isabela exchanged glances again. "You had to tell her, didn't you, Isabela?" sighed Hawke.

"You were the one who told her the details," countered Isabela.

"Just tell me!" shouted the elf. Both women looked at her with raised eyebrows, as Merrill wilted. "Please?" she squeaked. Isabela giggled as Hawke blushed. The Champion reluctantly stuck out her long, pink tongue. Affixed to the center of it was a small, golden stud with a ruby set in its center.

* * *

><p><em>Author's Note:<em>

_Apologies for the delay on this tale. The busy monster reared its ugly head, and I was forced to fight it off with a sharp stick and a trash can lid. I was stuck for a bit writing certain segments (I think it took me over two weeks to write the tables and earthquake scenes) because the words just weren't flowing right. I'm also less confident in my ability to write action scenes, which Primo happens to be full of. I suspect that it will get better over time as I continue to write. That said, I am happy with the way it turned out, and I'm glad to be able to bring it out and show it to you all._

_That is not to say that I won't continue writing. As is the usual case with me, whenever I near the end of a story, I start thinking up all sorts of other crazy ideas that I would love to put to paper. It's a self-perpetuating cycle, and I think that we're all the better for it._

_Shout-outs to my pre-readers, of course. I love them and they provide a great deal of help. If you would like to be a pre-reader, please contact me!_

_In other news, I've got not one, but TWO extremely talented artists who have done art for the Snacking series! Not only has the absolutely wonderful artist Ixia (tutchangers (dot)deviantart(dot)com) continued to put out totally gorgeous art for my story (check out her Earrings painting, it is fabulous), but the newcomer wikdValkyrie (wikdvalkyrie(dot)deviantart(dot)com) did her own rendition of the paper ship scene from Amuse-Bouche, and a beautiful one of the aftereffects of Revenge (the Perils of Princess Isabel). I feel extremely fortunate to have two such talented artists take an interest in my writing._

_I also have a bit of a selfish request of any artists, so if you are interested in the request (or pre-reading, the door is always open for new pre-readers), please contact me through the usual channels (or via e-mail: hoorayforicecream(at)yahoo(dot)com)._

_The next entry in Snacking's sordid history will likely be a collection of shorts, currently titled "Shots". Take from that as you will. Until then, may your glasses never be empty. Cheers._


	10. Shots

Shots

by hoorayforicecream

Foreword: Shot #4 is rated M for reals. People offended by text of two ladies in love having some real girlish fun should probably skip it. For serious. You have been warned.

* * *

><p>"Really? But I didn't think that it could even fit!" gasped Merrill.<p>

"Kitten, the human body can accommodate many things that you probably wouldn't believe possible. In any case, _she_ certainly didn't complain," laughed Isabela, before taking a sip from her tankard. "... at the time," she added.

"I don't think I'll ever look at a tuber the same way," sighed the young elf.

"They're for more than just eating," grinned the pirate. "Let me tell you about the time she brought home mangos..."

Merrill sipped her ale and made a face, smacking her lips. Interrupting the Rivaini's discussion on the more salient points of ripe and soft fruits, the slim elf girl stuck out her tongue and wondered aloud, "Why does this taste so foul? What sort of possible enjoyment is there to be had from alcohol?"

Isabela stopped her tale and was about to answer, but stopped with a sentence half-formed on her tongue. She raised a single finger, and said "Kitten, I'll be right back. Don't go anywhere," before standing and walking past the lithe mage. Merrill turned in her chair, and saw Isabela practically skip to the entrance, and grasp Hawke's hands in hers. They began to speak.

"I wonder what they're saying?" she thought to herself. Hawke said something, and Isabela laughed. Merrill pursed her lips.

"Hello Isabela," she said, imitating Hawke's voice. "You're looking very lovely today. Shall we do some dirty things together?"

Isabela responded enthusiastically. "Hawke! So glad you could come. I was just telling Merrill about the sorts of dirty things we do, and I would love to do some with you right now," the elf continued in Isabela's voice. The pirate pointed in her general direction, and gestured. "She's over there, and just told me she doesn't like alcohol. Isn't that hilarious?" Isabela laughed, throwing her head back and placing a hand on Hawke's arm.

Hawke looked bemused by Isabela's comments. "That was a funny joke, Isabela," said Merrill-Hawke. Hawke waved at Merrill and gave her a dazzling smile. Merrill blushed a bit at the attention, before resuming her play-voicing. "I like the way she's wearing her hair today."

Isabela took Hawke's hand in both of hers and pulled the woman along with her. "Come on, Hawke" Merrill-Isabela said. "I want you right now." The pair moved toward the bar. "Oh, I was mistaken. I want a drink first." amended Merrill-Isabela. The pirate waved Corff over and spoke to him at length.

"I want the alcoholiest drink that you have. And something for Hawke too. I want them now, so that Hawke and I can go do dirty things," ordered Merrill-Isabela. "Hawke, pay the man for his time," continued Merrill-Isabela, as Hawke pulled a few coins from her purse and placed them on the counter. The two women approached the blood mage while still holding hands.

"Kitten, I have something for you. We've arranged for a bit of a sampler for you to show you how delicious drinking can be. Try them all, and we'll be back to check up on you shortly," smiled Isabela as she and Hawke approached.

"But Isabela... what will you be doing in the meantime?" the curious elf girl asked.

Isabela leaned in and conspiratorially whispered a single word: "Tubers." Merrill blushed.

Standing back up, Isabela waved Norah over. The surly barmaid placed five separate cups of varying sizes and types in front of the delighted elf. They were all different colors and textures. Merrill looked with wonder at each beverage, marveling at their features.

"Which shall I try first?" she asked, turning toward Isabela... only to find the pair already vanished. The elf sighed, and lifted a small glass with light brown liquid in it, with some of the heavy cream floating to the top. She sniffed it carefully, picking out the sweet dairy smell, mixed with the scent of sugarcane and alcohol. She took a sip from the cup, as the smooth cream went down easily, and her throat pleasantly warmed.

* * *

><p>Shot #1: RUM AND CREAM<p>

One dwarf greeted the other with a stiff handshake and a friendly smile. Bodahn, dwarven valet to the Hawke family, firmly grasped the guest's hand and welcomed him in to the manor house. The visitor strode confidently into the foyer, holding a green glass bottle in one hand. He waved the bottle at the servant, gently swirling its contents enticingly. It contained a curiously dark liquid inside, and the label simply read XXX. The beardless dwarf offered some of the beverage to the valet, but Bodahn graciously refused.

"Not while I'm on duty, messere, tempted though I might be," he said. "The lady is in her office. Shall I announce you?"

"No thank you, my good ser," grinned Varric. "I'll find my own way."

"Very good, messere," nodded Bodahn, waving him in.

Varric strolled through the foyer and through the hall, noting the new carvings on the banister. Isabela had apparently etched what looked like distaff portions of anatomy into the handrail. He glanced at them. Whoever they belonged to was certainly a healthy woman, he thought. The dwarf turned a quick left, and walked through the carpeted hallway. He passed Leandra's old room and uttered a silent prayer for her soul before reaching the heavy oak door to Hawke's office. He thought he could hear mumbling on the other side, but the sounds vanished when he knocked. He heard another mumble from behind the door, and he pushed it open and sauntered into the room.

As he entered the office, Varric couldn't help but notice the ruddy pink of Hawke's flushed cheeks as she pored over the various scrolls and papers spread out over her massive wooden desk. The hardwood desk had been fashioned from ancient oak trees, and lacquered for a glossy finish. The shiny, reflective surface had been nearly covered by all of the various parchments and papers Hawke had strewn about the surface. She tilted back the last of the amber liquid in her glass and swallowed, before putting it next to its mate on the small ceramic plate in front of a half-full bottle of Antivan brandy. She had separated the assorted papers into several piles - one of unbroken envelopes with festive decorations, a second of parchments with hastily scrawled lettering. Hawke finished writing out her response, folded the page, and placed it on a smaller stack nearby. Sadly, the pile of finished responses seemed woefully small compared to the 'still to do' piles. Hawke groaned as she set her quill down.

"Varric, what a pleasant surprise," she smiled, shifting in her seat.

"Long day, Hawke?" he smirked. "I thought you could use a little pick-me-up." He swirled the contents of the bottle in a slow, circular motion.

"You always say the sweetest things", replied Hawke, smiling wearily.

Varric poured a shot into each of the glasses, accidentally dribbling a little of the amber liquid onto the parchment. Hawke frowned.

"That was Lady Janice's dinner invitation," she sighed.

"Is she still trying to marry you off to her son? Jenner, I think it was?" chuckled Varric. "That boy would probably be a lot more attractive if he ever pulled that finger out of his nose."

"Every time I see him, it looks like he's mining for gold in there," she giggled. "He's always at least a knuckle deep."

The dwarf laughed at the thought, and raised one of the shot glasses. Hawke raised hers in response. With a nod, they each downed a shot in one gulp. As soon as the fluid hit her throat, her eyes widened in shock at the burning sensation searing the tender flesh. Hawke looked like she had just swallowed liquid fire, and the pain told her exactly where it was as it traveled down to her belly. The Champion burst into a fit of coughs.

"What's _in_ this stuff?" gasped Hawke, squirming a bit in her seat.

"Isabela really likes it. It's a special dwarven blend called Nug Juice." Noting Hawke's look of horror, Varric laughed again. "Don't worry, Hawke. No nugs were harmed in making this fine beverage," he added, refilling both shot glasses.

They raised their glasses a second time in mild salute, and this time Hawke took a deep breath before downing hers. The heat spread quickly, but more pleasantly this time, as Varric felt the gentle pressure in his ears reminding him of the drink's effects. He set the glass back down on Lady Janice's slightly stained invitation.

"So, do you have the time in your busy schedule to come play cards with us tonight? We're playing diamondback at the Hanged Man," invited the dwarf as he refilled the shot glasses a third time.

Hawke groaned. "I think the nobles have gotten wise to my visits there," she complained, leaning back in her chair. "They've begun ambushing me at the bar whenever I go to see Isabela."

"I've noticed that the raised nose population there has gone up significantly. Not that I mind, they actually pay out good coin to hear tales of your bravery instead of just buying me drinks like the usual crowd does," snickered Varric.

"If it means that much to you, I will be there," nodded the Champion, the flush growing on her cheeks.

"Glad to hear it, Hawke. It just wouldn't be the same without you," said the dwarf fondly. He refilled the shot glasses again. "Now when will you let me write the official story of the Champion of Kirkwall?" he continued smoothly.

"Really Varric? Don't you get enough of telling my story at the tavern?" asked Hawke wearily, after downing her shot.

Varric swallowed the contents of his own glass before responding. "I know you've told me no in the past, but Rivaini's been pretty persistent," he replied. "I think she wants to take advantage of that notoriety of yours." He refilled the glasses again.

Hawke drank, and the flush on her cheeks darkened. She blew out a frustrated sigh, and crossed her arms. "If she really wanted to be famous, she'd stop avoiding these parties I keep inviting her to," she huffed, sticking out her lower lip. Varric heard a thump from the heavy oak desk, and the Champion winced in discomfort. The dwarf grinned.

"Oh, I had almost forgotten. Hawke, I owe Rivaini two sovereigns from diamondback last time," he added, almost as an afterthought. He reached into his pocket and drew out two golden coins. He tossed them into the air and watched them glint in the light, before catching them and placing them gently on the desk before Hawke. The smile never leaving his face, he knocked twice on the desk. Hawke's entire face went scarlet as a deeply tanned arm that did not belong to her reached out from under the desk. The gloved hand groped around the parchments as the fingers quickly searched for their prey. Finally finding the coins, the hand tested them for shape and size, grabbed them both, then flipped into a thumbs-up before vanishing back underneath the desk.

Hawke looked like she was ready to die from embarrassment. The dwarf grinned. "I'll see you tonight then," he said as he left the room chuckling.

* * *

><p>After she finished the contents of the first glass, the young elf frowned. The first drink had a bit of a surprise at the end, when the cream was gone and it was almost purely rum. It wasn't as unpleasant as the whiskey she had tried before, but it did leave a bad taste in her mouth. Merrill looked at the remaining four cups, and selected a prettily-colored goblet with bits of fruit in it. The contents of the goblet were a deep red, with a thin layer of froth on top, garnished by a bit of orange. The mage popped the orange chunk into her mouth, and took a sip of the drink. The flavors mixed in her mouth, and she smiled as the sweetness of the red liquid washed over her tongue.<p>

* * *

><p>Shot #2: HURRICANE<p>

The steady drumming of water on the roof beat relentlessly as the winds outside continued to howl. The Hanged Man buzzed with more patrons than usual; many of them were simply seeking shelter from the storm. Isabela snuck a glance as the door swung inward, and a collective groan came from the people nearest as another soaked dock worker entered the tavern. The spray of wind and water pelted those unfortunate enough to be near the entry, and they shielded their eyes and drinks as best they could from the blast. Corff, sensing a captive audience, had his barmaids working as quickly as he could. Unfortunately for Corff, neither Norah nor Edwina were in the mood to move any faster than usual. Isabela's amber eyes darted from the door back to the crowd of young men and women near the fire, circling stories of high adventure and romance, often punctuating them with exaggerated hand motions as if they were swinging imaginary swords. Not a one of them could have been older than twenty-five. Each was fresh faced, bright-eyed and innocent, much like Hawke had seemed at their first meeting. She laughed to herself; spending time with Hawke had quickly disabused her of _that_ particular notion. Any innocence on Hawke's part had long been eroded, and in no small part thanks to Isabela herself.

The youths sharing wine and stories, however, were not the ordinary folk who dreamed of making their fortune in the world. They were all dressed in velvets and furs, with silly hats, gaudy colors, and hose befitting young noblemen and women. The young women were pretty, and the men handsome, and they carried themselves as if they hadn't a care in the world. Once upon a time, she might have taken one or two of them to her bed. It wouldn't have been the first time she taught a strapping youth his right from his left, or demonstrated the delights of womanhood to a young ingenue. But that seemed a lifetime ago; now looking at the gathered youths, she only wondered what they were doing at the Hanged Man. The door opened again and she glanced at the newcomers, the nobles momentarily forgotten. Another groan erupted from the poor blighters near the entrance as they were once again wetted and chilled by the storm outside. More dock workers, soaked and sullen, shuffled into the bar.

"Would she really come in this weather?" chirped Merrill from her right.

"She said she'd be coming. Didn't she, Rivaini?" asked Varric, as he mulled over his cards.

"I would hope she is well. It is not a pleasant evening to be traveling," Fenris said solemnly.

"I think you should pay attention to your hands, and not to Hawke's whereabouts," said Isabela, squinting at her own cards. "Show," she commanded, laying her cards flat. Before Varric could put his cards down, the door opened again and Isabela's eyes snapped to the entryway after the sound of uncomfortable patrons greeted her ears. A harried trio of laborers in heavy woolen cloaks entered the tavern. Isabela returned her gaze to the cards, but caught Varric's small smirk out of the corner of her eye. Her hand of three crowns took the pot, and Isabela grinned as Varric dealt the next round. She took a swallow from her mug, then lifted her cards. The hand looked good, she had three serpents and a crown. She glanced at the others. Merrill looked disappointed at her cards. Fenris was his usual unreadable self, and Varric wasn't letting anything slip. She pushed a handful of silver coin into the center of the table.

"Thirty gets you lucky," she smiled.

Varric smiled, and pushed some of his own silver in. "Thirty might get me lucky, but sixty will be immortalized in song," he chuckled.

"Sixty it is," nodded Fenris, adding more silver to the pile in the center of the table.

Merrill frowned at her cards, but dropped her silver into the pot. Isabela followed, and they each pitched one card into the pool. Isabela's crown, Varric's sword, Fenris' two and Merrill's four. The card pool didn't help, though Merrill's smile at the latest card reveal was telling. Varric dealt out a new card to each player. Isabela reached for her card, but before she could lift it, the door to the Hanged Man opened yet again, and the crowd near the entryway once more murmured angrily. Despite the shuffling and ambient movement of the patrons, Isabela could recognize the figure at a thousand paces wearing a cloak and a mask. Hawke had arrived.

The Champion was soaked to her skin. She hadn't been wearing a cloak, and her fine silks were drenched with the rain. Her wet clothing clung to her body, hugging every curve like a second skin. Her hair was soaked and plastered to her head, but her eyes shined as brightly as sapphires, even across the distance that separated them.

Isabela swallowed.

Hawke glanced about the crowd nervously, grimacing when she spotted the crowd of nobles near the fireplace. When her gaze locked on to Isabela's, a warm smile spread across the Champion's face. She raised her hands and pointed at the bar with both, followed by a drinking motion, then moved toward it. Isabela nodded, and looked back at her cards.

Varric had dealt her the fourth and final serpent. She glanced at her table mates. Varric was drumming his fingers. That was an excellent sign, he had a tendency to do that when he was bluffing. Fenris was a wild card. He liked playing the game, but had no head for strategy at all. Whenever he had a good hand, he always bet his best, but was always bad at choosing which card to throw into the pot and often didn't quite realize what he actually had. Merrill was frowning at her cards again. The poor girl had no concept of a diamondback face at all. Isabela smiled to herself. It was time for her to take the pot.

"Forty more will make it mine," she said, pushing in more coin.

After a moment, Varric said, "I think that eighty will make it _mine._"

Fenris silently put in his coin without looking at his cards. Merrill kept looking between her cards, the pot, and how much coin she had in front of her. Matching the bet would mean she had to win it. She put her cards down and shook her head.

"I'm going to enjoy taking your money, Varric. Two sovereigns for the purchase of a new hat," the buxom pirate laughed as she pushed two shining gold coins into the pot.

Varric paused to look at his cards again. "I think you're bluffing, Rivaini. I'm not going to let you buy yourself out of this one. Bianca needs some shiny new platinum firing rings, and she'll thank you for the generous contribution to her cause," he grinned, tossing in two golden coins. "In fact, she also needs a set of new sights. Let's make it interesting, shall we?" he smirked, adding a third gold coin.

Fenris opened his mouth to speak, but over the clamor of the patrons and the Tevinter elf's voice, a sweet, melodic sound grabbed hold of Isabela's attention with the force of one of Bianca's crossbow bolts. It was faint, but she knew it well; it was an intoxicating sound that was like music to her ears. Hawke was laughing. She looked back at the bar, where Hawke had apparently just finished toweling her hair off. It was still damp, and stuck out in that puffy way freshly dried hair does after a bath. Her eyes twinkled like jewels, and her face was flush with the warmth of the bar and possibly of the alcohol she had been sipping. Even at the distance, Isabela could see the tiniest detail: each little droplet of water that clung to her gorgeous neck, every soaked wrinkle in her tunic that clung to her body, teasing the sensual figure beneath. Isabela saw the gentle ripples across the muscles in Hawke's lanky, athletic arms as she set the towel down on the counter and reached for her cup. Hawke began to move toward the table, and Isabela broke into a grin as their eyes met. It was enough to take the pirate's breath away.

Then Hawke made a face. It was subtle, the kind that Isabela had only seen when she was with people she couldn't abide, but had to pretend she did. It was really the eyes that did it though, her grin was a little too wide, and her brows were knit in a look of confusion. The young nobles had intercepted her and surrounded her on all sides. An ambitious young blonde in a low-cut dress had attached herself to Hawke's arm, batting her eyelashes at the Champion and pursing her full red lips as if daring Hawke to kiss them. A young man with his back turned to the pirate gesticulated wildly, showing off his broad back and shoulders. The remainder crowded around her and pushed and prodded her in the general direction of their lair near the hearth. Hawke's eyes pleaded with her silently, and the Ferelden woman silently mouthed, "HELP ME". Isabela sighed and stood.

She thought that she had heard voices nearby... perhaps it was Varric, or possibly Fenris, but she paid them no heed. "The pot is mine. Use it to buy another round. I'll be right back," she said quickly as she laid her cards on the table and moved toward the crowd. When she was about halfway to Hawke, she saw the extent of the situation that had occurred. The gaggle of lordlings had cornered Hawke and corralled her at their area near the fireplace. The blonde had pulled Hawke to an empty seat, and the rest had surrounded the nervous-looking Champion on all sides.

"_Balls_," she cursed.

She approached the throng of adolescent nobles, but was unable to penetrate the crowd. They had formed a protective ring around the Champion, and were assaulting her on all sides with questions of her adventures and offering invitations to parties and events. A smoky-eyed brunette appeared to have taken up a position opposite the blonde at Hawke's side, and was doing her best to keep Hawke's right arm firmly wedged between her breasts. Isabela could barely make out what she was saying... an invitation to Baroness Jelara's dinner party that Hawke absolutely _must_ attend. The way the little tart kept rubbing herself against Hawke's arm and asking whether Hawke liked the stitchwork on the bodice set Isabela's teeth to grinding.

The pirate considered forcing her way in, when a chubby-faced young man turned and noticed her. The fellow was hardly more than a boy; he was apparently trying to grow out his first beard. His eyes were like small beads sunken in his large, round face. All in all, he looked rather piggish. When he saw her, his eyes lit up. He shouted "A fresh goblet of your finest wine!"

She blinked. The drink orders came rushing in.

"A flagon of your best wine!"

"A tumbler of your best brandy!"

"A mixed drink, with fruit!"

"Two tankards of your finest ale!"

"Your best whiskey, and keep it coming!"

The nobles quickly pressed coin into her hands, filling them with silver coin, then one large man unceremoniously pushed her out of the crowd, punctuating the shove with "Get going, we're thirsty!"

She could have snapped his arm in three places, had she desired to. But the thought of moments of fun were followed by thoughts of days of avoiding Aveline and her guardsmen yet again for such tiny, trifling matters. (It wasn't her fault that the baronet had broken his leg in four places after he groped her. She was merely headed to Hawke's mansion for her evening entertainments; was it her fault that he accidentally tripped over his own feet and fell down the stairwell to Lowtown?) She debated for a few moments before she looked up and saw Norah struggling with a large tray laden with tankards. An inspiration struck her.

She pushed and shoved her way through the patrons until she reached the bar. With a twinkle in her eye, she said "Corff, I need a platter, four tankards of ale, three goblets of wine, two cups of brandy, and a shot of your finest whiskey."

Corff raised his eyebrow at her order, but grudgingly prepared them when she laid silver on the counter. She grinned as she hefted the heavy serving tray onto one shoulder, and winked as she passed her friends who were still playing cards. All three of them were looking on in interest. Fenris looked as if he was trying to figure out what she was doing, trying to analyze her attack strategy. Merrill looked confused, no doubt wondering why Isabela was suddenly serving drinks instead of playing cards or fetching Hawke. Varric simply raised an eyebrow with a smile; he knew that whatever Isabela was up to would be entertaining at the very least. Or perhaps he was just preparing in case a brawl broke out, having learned long ago that both were equally likely with the pirate.

"Drinks are here!" she announced, as she used the tray to push her way into the crowd. The nobles parted before the power of the tray, but they looked on in confusion as she began unceremoniously shoving drinks into each person's hand. Each looked down, and a few sputtered that the drink order was wrong, but she paid them no heed as she pushed past them. Her eyes were on the Champion and the Champion alone. She pressed a goblet of wine into the brunette's grasp, then a cup of brandy into the blonde's, and shoved the two noblewomen aside. She finally stood before Hawke, holding the remaining shot of whiskey aloft. Hawke managed to free her arms from the pair of disappointed-looking girls, and started to rise from her seat.

"And for the Champion, the house special," the pirate declared, placing a forefinger between Hawke's eyes and gently pushing the stunned Ferelden woman back down.

"Isabela, what are you doing?" whispered Hawke frantically.

"Rescuing what's mine, sweet thing," the pirate replied with a grin. She straddled Hawke's lap and lifted the shot of whiskey to her lips. Tilting it back until it was clearly empty, she tossed it into the fire and kissed Hawke with the speed and ferocity of a wild animal. As she kissed, the canny pirate brought her hands up, resting one comfortably on the Champion's chest, and the other encircled her victim's neck. Hawke froze for a moment before finally relaxing and returning the kiss with equal ardor. The Champion rested her hands comfortably on the pirate's hips, and their tongues danced back and forth in a slow rhythm.

The crowd of nobles fell dead silent. The brunette tried to restart the conversation, but her words died on her tongue after realizing that the Champion's attention was firmly focused elsewhere. One of the young men coughed, but Isabela paid it no heed. She had her lover firmly where she wanted her, and wasn't about to let go. The seconds passed, and the youths grew more and more embarrassed as the women in their midst completely ignored them. Finally, the pirate broke the kiss and leaned back with a sigh and a contented smile on her face. Hawke's face was flushed as she gasped for breath.

"This is your brilliant rescue?" whispered Hawke when she could.

"Oh Hawke, you have yet to realize just how much you owe me for this," Isabela smirked mischievously. "And I intend to collect, sweet thing. Right now," she added, grinding herself against the Champion for emphasis. Hawke's face went scarlet.

The pirate rose from her seat in the Champion's lap, and grabbed one of Hawke's hands. She tugged it lightly, pulling the Ferelden to her feet.

"The Champion gives her apologies, but her bar tab has been closed, and now it is time for her to settle her debts," announced the pirate, as she pulled Hawke toward her room. "She thanks you for your time, and hopes to see you all again soon." Isabela pressed by the stunned onlookers with Hawke in tow, and the two of them disappeared up the steps.

The young nobles looked at each other, dumbfounded for a few moments, before the fat, young man finally broke the silence. He raised his hand and said "I'll have whatever the Champion had."

* * *

><p>Merrill looked at the bottom of the goblet sadly. It had tasted quite delicious, and she loved the sweetness, but it had ended all too soon. She returned her view to the remaining three, and picked up the small, clear glass with the two-layered drink inside. She sniffed at it carefully. It was some sort of creamy liqueur on top, and beneath was something else. The scent of the cream overpowered the other aromas, but her keen elven nose could detect the smell of cherry as well. She lifted the glass and tilted her head back. Her eyes widened in surprise as she felt the cherry touch her tongue, but she swallowed the entire shot in a single gulp, while chewing on the cherry.<p>

* * *

><p>SHOT #3: SLIPPERY NIPPLE<p>

"I've placed a shot in a dragon's eye at fifty paces," smirked Sebastian, as the group walked along the path at the Wounded Coast.

"Oh I'm sure you've hit a dragon or two in your time, Choir Boy, but Bianca's consistent. She'll shoot right through three rings three times at a forty paces before you can say 'Champion of Kirkwall', " bragged his hearty dwarf companion.

"I cannae believe that, what with how much extra heft ye be carryin', my friend. What's Bianca's effective range?" asked the young prince.

"She's good within a hand's breadth at sixty. Two hands breadths at eighty," laughed Varric, rubbing is crossbow's handle.

"Aye, with me family weapon, I can put three within a hand's breadth at fifty five. Two hands breadths at about seventy," admitted Sebastian. "But I can shoot the nose off an eagle within the kill range," he added, smiling.

As the two continued to boast and compare archery skills, the Champion of Kirkwall sighed. She glanced back at the unlikely pair as they began a debate about the right type of material for bowstrings before moving on past them. Hawke took a deep breath as the archer conversation became heated; Varric started making sweeping gestures with his short, stubby arms, while Sebastian had drawn his bow and pointed at it repeatedly.

"Can we please keep moving? I'm sure you two have a lot to discuss, but the group of apostates we're tracking is probably getting further away," sighed Hawke. The two men quieted down, and Sebastian even had the presence of mind to look a bit embarrassed. The trio began walking again, and moved in silence before Hawke spotted Isabela in the distance. Hawke quickened her pace to meet with the buxom pirate, while Varric took advantage of the distraction to begin the argument with Sebastian anew.

"They're up ahead, and not far. It seems they had a disagreement, though I couldn't tell you what about," the pirate said. "The squabble appears to have had a few fatalities. I expect it's what happens when people start using blood magic," she added. Hawke sighed as she heard the argument behind her growing in volume.

"What's with the two of them?" Isabela asked, a small grin forming on her face.

"Those two have been arguing and talking about archery since you left," sighed Hawke.

"Oh, is my poor little Champion tired of playing nanny to the toddler and the boy?" cooed the pirate, as she patted Hawke's shoulder affectionately. "Don't worry, Isabela will kiss it and make it all better," she smiled.

As the women began walking, Hawke hooked her arm in Isabela's and rested her head on the Rivaini's shoulder for a moment. Behind them, the argument grew softer as the distance between them increased. The archers' pace had slowed again, and Hawke sighed.

"Archery this, and archery that. What's so bloody good about archery, anyway?" complained Hawke. Her companion laughed her musical laugh, and placed a hand on Hawke's arm.

"Archery, sweet thing, is about two things. Placing your shot where you want it, and placing it there as hard as you can," laughed Isabela. "The further back you can pull your bow, the harder you place the shot. The quality of your arrow, the gauging of your eye, and the steadiness of your hand determine where it is placed," she continued.

"You seem awfully well versed in archery," grumped Hawke. She stopped walking for a moment, and Isabela paused to look at her. "Why haven't I ever seen you use a bow?" asked the Champion.

The canny pirate laughed again. She looked at Hawke with a half-lidded gaze, and spoke with a voice that turned the Champion's knees to jelly. "You wish to see me bend a long, hard shaft to my will? Stroke it delicately, and make it sing? Release it all over my enemies?"

Hawke's cheeks colored. Isabela's grin widened, as she blithely went on. "Oh, you did, didn't you? Sorry to disappoint you, sweet thing. I have no such plans," she laughed. The buxom buccaneer leaned in and whispered, "I have my sights set on _other_ targets. I prefer to be up _close_ to my victims. _Intimately _close, even," she breathed. Isabela slowly lifted Hawke's chin with her free hand, and drew the Champion's face toward her...

"... and THAT'S why ye use the tail feathers from a duck, and not a raptor," declared Sebastian, as the two approached from the east. "It'll keep the shaft steady, even in bad weather."

Isabela sighed, and gave Hawke a quick peck on the lips. "And there's less chance of someone getting in the way and ruining your shot," she said with a wink, before tugging on Hawke's arm and pulling her forward again.

"If you boys are finished comparing your shafts, we're approaching the apostates," cautioned the pirate with a smirk. Both Varric and Sebastian managed to flush at her reprimand.

The companions quietly moved forward, taking their positions on a small ridge above the slavers' encampment. The air was eerily quiet; the only sound was the gentle lapping of the waves in the distance, and the rustle of a light breeze through the foliage. There were no sounds of wildlife, from a scurrying lizard to a singing bird. The encampment was a single fire pit and a large, makeshift tent hastily slung over a rope between two nearby trees. Two bloody corpses lay near the smoldering remnants of the campfire, one of them torn apart as if by a wild animal. Sebastian pulled his bow from his shoulder and nocked an arrow. He tapped the dwarf on the shoulder and pointed.

A ragged-looking bald man in a long Circle robe emerged from the tent. The man stumbled and fell to his knees, clutching at his head. After a moment, he lowered his hands and stared at them in horror. The man's face, chest and hands were covered in blood, and he clawed at his own eyes as if trying to scrape away some sort of horrible vision before him. Varric unslung Bianca from his back and loaded a bolt. The tent stirred a second time, as a hooded figure easily the size of a Qunari stepped out. The bald man recoiled at the sight of the hooded figure and tried to back away, but tripped over his own feet and landed heavily on his rear. He tried to scramble away, but the look of sheer terror in his face held him fast. As the hooded figure approached, the bald man began to scream. His eyes rolled up into his head, and his body began thrashing, convulsing under unseen pressures. The man's jaw unhinged, then distended, as his flesh writhed seemingly independent of his bones. His arms and legs elongated, as his head and neck twisted around. In a moment the transformation was complete, and a low-slung, fleshy looking horror was all that remained of the bald, gibbering man.

Sebastian muttered a quick prayer to the Maker as the abomination sniffed at the air and began to crawl on all fours like some sort of twisted reflection of a rabid animal. The hooded figure stepped forward, and the abomination growled and gave a gruff, quick grunt. The crawling creature lifted its head and tested the wind. It turned to angle one eye directly at their vantage point, and launched itself in a bizarre slithering motion toward their hiding spot. The hooded figure rushed forward, and its hands slipped out from beneath the folds of its cloak. They were not any sort of hands the companions had seen before, all curved, cruel and misshapen claws. The giant lumbered forward with surprising speed. Varric began swearing under his breath and released his first bolt, striking the cloaked creature in the shoulder. Sebastian fired from his bow, but the skittering horror was difficult to predict and the shot went wide.

Varric took a second shot, and Bianca's aim was true. He managed to hit the lumbering giant in the head, but the bolt simply shattered when it collided with the creature. He continued to fire, trying to slow its inexorable advance. He managed to slow it with a well-placed shot to the right thigh, but despite staining the monstrosity's cloak with blood, it would not stop coming.

The skittering horror whipped its body back and forth, and leaped over the ball of flame that Hawke hurled at it with agility that belied its size. Sebastian had anticipated its movement, and it could not change course midair. The prince's arrow struck the creature in the chest, and it howled in pain as it landed. It took another shaft as it closed the last of the distance. Hawke desperately raised her hands as a wave of ice shards erupted from the sandy ground in an effort to slow the low-slung monster's advance, but the abomination simply lowered its head and charged through the ice, shattering it into a myriad of tiny shards. Isabela attempted to intercept it, but it snaked around her and barreled into Sebastian, grabbing hold of his breastplate with both clawed hands. Isabela sprung at the creature and buried both blades to their hilts into its back. It shrieked and launched itself forward, dragging the stunned prince along the ground and hauling the pirate with it for good measure. Isabela desperately held on to her dagger handles as the monster crashed through the underbrush, smashing Sebastian against any debris and rocks it could find. She managed to yank one of her daggers free from where it was buried in the creature's back, and stabbed higher. Its shriek of pain turned to a gurgle as the blade bit home, but it continued to thrash about like a frenzied animal, flailing its claws in hopes of making the pain stop. The pirate managed to free her second dagger, and leaped forward, burying it to the hilt at the base of the abomination's skull. It thrashed one final time, before finally going still.

"You'd better have something big in store, Hawke. Any more of this, and all I'll be able to do is bullshit him!" yelled Varric, hurling a smoke flask on the ground to provide cover. Hawke spun and hurled a ball of flame at the advancing brute, and it struck the creature full in the chest. The behemoth staggered back as its cloak burned away, revealing the true giant underneath. It was even bigger than it had seemed; it was a veritable mountain of walking muscle and metal. Iron plates were fused to its shoulders, belly and forehead, while its one visible eye glared balefully from deep beneath its low sloping brow and makeshift helmet. The brute lacked a lower jaw, but cruel sharpened fangs protruded from its upper jaw nonetheless. Hawke concentrated and pointed her staff, arcing lightning through the air and striking the massive fiend in the chest. The smell of ozone permeated the camp, as the monstrosity's flesh bubbled and blistered from the onslaught. The behemoth's exposed chest rose and fell as it gasped for breath, and Hawke's eyes were drawn to one rapidly convulsing section on its left breast.

"Varric, the heart! Aim for the heart!" she cried, as she gathered her will for another spell. The giant roared in pain as Hawke froze the air in its lungs, and it flailed its massive arms about it, trying to grab at its distant foes. With a sickening, wet sound, long sinuous tentacles burst from its distended hands. The abomination extended them with blinding speed at both of its nearby enemies. Hawke threw herself to one side to avoid them, but one of the tentacles managed to wrap itself around her leg, and yanked her off her feet. Another managed to snake around Varric's arm, and it smashed him against a tree, where he crumpled and lay still. Sensing Hawke's magic, it roared in triumph as it raised its arms and pulled its victim toward it.

Isabela quickly checked on the unconscious Sebastian after pulling him from beneath the still-twitching corpse of the dead abomination. His pulse was strong, but one of his arms was clearly broken after he had been dragged nearly fifty paces through the rock and underbrush. The bone had not managed to break through the skin, but would need serious attention soon. She spun as she heard a roar of triumph from behind her, and saw the monstrosity pulling Hawke toward her with a hungry look on its misshapen face. A single glance was enough to know the distance was too great. She didn't have enough time to sprint, and her thrown dagger didn't have the range she needed. She looked about desperately for an answer. Her eyes locked on to Sebastian's recurve bow, and she reached for it.

"_Balls_," she cursed, as she nocked an arrow and drew the massive weapon. She took a deep breath, steeled herself, then let the broad-headed arrow loose.

Hawke was choking. She kicked and thrashed as best she could, but the tentacles held her firmly as the creature pulled her in. Worse yet, the tentacles constricted each time she tried to mentally gather the mana for a spell to escape, forcing the air out of her lungs and nearly cracking her bones in the process. The pain was excruciating, but she fought every step of the way. She managed to surreptitiously gather sufficient mana to freeze the tentacles binding her before scrambling to freedom, but her arms and legs were screaming in pain and unresponsive. She fell to the ground in a heap, and could only look up at the abomination looming over her. She tried to gather her mana for one last spell, when she heard it.

It sounded like a light whistle, followed by the sound of something solid hitting flesh. One of Sebastian's arrows was buried in the creature's heart. The monster had frozen in place, as if it were in shock that someone had dared attack it, while a steady stream of blood gushed from the new hole in its chest. A moment later, a second arrow, a scant finger's breadth from the first, also slammed into the creature's heart. The pulsating flesh burst like a wet bladder, spraying the ground with black blood, and the creature fell backward to the ground with a loud crash. Hawke staggered to her feet, and looked back.

Isabela stood with Sebastian's family bow in hand and another arrow nocked, making sure that the creature would not be rising again. After a moment, the bow dropped from her nerveless fingers and she doubled over, clutching at her right breast and cursing at the top of her lungs.

"Shit! _Shit_! _SHIT_!" Isabela swore. Hawke checked to make sure Varric was still breathing, before hobbling over to the buxom pirate as quickly as she could.

"Agh, that stings! _Shit_!" the pirate continued to swear, gently massaging her right breast.

"_This_ is why you don't use a bow?" asked Hawke incredulously, as she put her arms around the buxom pirate to help steady her and inspected her for injuries.

"Blasted things always snap me right in the tender parts," complained Isabela. She looked at Hawke seriously. "If you tell anyone, I swear all of Kirkwall will know how much you love it when I-" she began angrily, before Hawke silenced her with a gentle kiss.

"I won't tell anyone," smiled Hawke, after the kiss broke.

"You'd better not," grumped the pirate while putting her arms around Hawke. They sat with each other in the sand, just enjoying the quiet moment. Varric and Sebastian had already begun to stir, when Isabela leaned against Hawke and rest her head on the Champion's shoulder.

As Hawke began looking in her bag for injury kits, she murmured "Don't worry, Isabela. When we get home, I'll make sure to kiss it and make it all better."

The smile didn't leave Isabela's face for the entire trip back.

* * *

><p>Merrill took a deep breath as she set the shot glass down on the table. She felt a gentle pressure behind her eyes, and the room felt like it was swimming a bit. It was not an unpleasant feeling, however, so she looked at the two remaining cups. They were both tall glasses, one a gentle pink color, and the other a deep orange. She sniffed at one, then the other, and gave a small hiccup.<p>

"Oh dear, I hope I'm not intoxicated," she said to herself. Her cheeks felt warm.

" How can it be colored like this with no fruit? I hope it's not blood," she wondered aloud, and hiccupped again. She frowned.

"This won't do at all," she said, and reached for the lighter-looking drink. It smelled faintly of eggs and cream, but her keen nose couldn't detect any fruit scents.

" I wonder how Hawke and Isabela are getting along?" she said before tilting the glass up.

* * *

><p>SHOT #4: PINK LADY<p>

"I swear that's why I wore it!" laughed Isabela as she draped her arms around Hawke's neck. Her face was flushed with alcohol, and her step faltered as they reached the door.

"You do realize that Lady Janice could tell what you were doing, don't you? Jenner couldn't, the poor fool, but Lady Janice looked like her eyebrows would fall off if she raised them any higher," giggled the Champion, placing a steadying hand on the small of the buxom buccaneer's back.

"Oh, is he the one she's trying to press you to marry? The one who was searching for buried treasure all night in his left nostril?" asked Isabela, squeezing Hawke a bit with her arms.

"Don't remind me. I was hoping that Lady Janice would see us together and get the hint, but I honestly don't think she cares," sighed Hawke.

"Why _do_ you keep going to these things? They're so frightfully boring; I had to invent my own amusements to keep from falling asleep in the soup," said Isabela as she leaned into the Champion's neck.

Hawke stiffened a bit. "I could tell. You were jingling on the way home," she said.

"It was hilarious, though. I don't think the Comptesse knew what to do when presented a bowl of soup without a soup soon," murmured Isabela.

"She looked like she couldn't believe such a thing could exist. A soup bowl, with no soup spoon? How could such a thing be possible?" mused Hawke.

"You like these parties, don't you?" accused the pirate. The idea of a married Hawke did not sit right with her. She frowned. "That's why you keep going to these things."

The Champion looked away, her cheeks coloring slightly. "We were attacked by dwarves yesterday. They may have been part of the Carta," Hawke said, changing the subject. "They ambushed me outside of the Merchant's Guild after dusk."

"Carta? Why would they be after you? Did they say who hired them?" Isabela wondered.

"They just kept mentioning my blood," said Hawke. She shrugged. "I wasn't in a generous mood, so I didn't give them any."

"So, are you going to continue to evade my question?" Isabela asked peevishly. Hawke pressed her against the door to the great bedroom.

"I've learned from the best," nodded Hawke, as she kissed the pirate tenderly. Isabela fumbled at the door behind her for the latch, and she stepped backward into the large room when it finally gave way.

"So what is it you want, then?" breathed Isabela between kisses. Hawke continued to press her body against the pirate's, forcing Isabela back toward the bed.

"I want to hear you calling my name tonight," said Hawke in a low voice while shrugging her fine tunic off. Isabela quickly unlaced her corset and pulled it over her head.

"I'll warn you, I've no head for names," laughed Isabela as she pulled her own tunic open. It fell to the floor as Hawke placed two fingertips on the pirate's solar plexus and gently pushed until Isabela lay back on the massive bed.

"You'll get plenty of both before we're through tonight," promised the Champion, crawling toward her lover on the mattress.

"Ooh. _Shivery_," welcomed Isabela. She leaned back against a large cushion, her eyes dancing with anticipation.

Hawke trailed kisses down Isabela's bare body. Starting at the pirate's left ear, then moving lower, the Champion's warm lips lips left a delicious trail of heat on Isabela's skin. When the Fereldan finally reached the small golden ring in Isabela's left nipple, she grinned and teased it with her tongue, rubbing their two rings together. Isabela gave a small moan of delight, before Hawke withdrew slightly. The pirate looked down with confusion and disappointment in her eyes. Hawke smirked that horrible, impish smirk she always had right before doing something audacious. Isabela traced her hands down Hawke's bare shoulders and smiled at her. Then Hawke pursed her lips and blew gently on the nipple.

Isabela gasped as the wetness on her breast suddenly went from warm to chill. Tiny goosebumps appeared on her skin, and she arched her back involuntarily at the sensation. Isabela's hands gripped the Champion's shoulders hard, as Hawke looked up with a self-satisfied little smirk for a moment before she resumed her work. Hawke began using her tongue as she kissed her way down Isabela's belly, and Isabela tensed each time the warm, wet flesh was pressed to her skin. The pirate's reactions were not lost on the Fereldan, as Hawke began varying her touches to prolong the tension and heighten Isabela's excitement. Isabela gave a small whimper when Hawke finally reached her belly button, and leaned back on the bed, supporting herself with both hands behind and raising both knees.

As Isabela gave a gentle sigh of pleasure, she noticed something out of the corner of her eye. It was a flicker of movement just outside the door which the two had forgotten to close in their haste. The lamps in the hallway were still lit, and the movement looked like shadows on the far wall. The pirate sat up a bit, just before another wave of pleasure shot through her like wildfire. Hawke had touched a rather sensitive spot, and had begun her usual method of attack, teasing the pirate relentlessly. Isabela felt the heat and desire burning in her belly, and she bit her lower lip to keep from crying out. She felt a soft vibration as Hawke giggled from her vantage point, and squirmed on the bed just a little. As Hawke touched tongue to skin again, another motion caught Isabela's distracted eye.

It was another flicker from outside the doorway, a flitting shadow momentarily blocking the dim light from the lamp in the hall. Fearing the worst, Isabela raised a hand to her necklace and withdrew the thin, curved blade she kept there for emergencies. Hawke was making small circular motions, and it felt like the tingling sensations from her core were radiating out in waves, bringing her higher and closer each time. Hawke pursed her lips and gave the pirate's inner thigh a kiss at just the right spot, and Isabela couldn't bite back her moan in time.

As she cried out, a short, squat man entered the room on silent feet. He was clearly trained in stealth; Isabela couldn't hear him at all over the sound of Hawke's gentle giggles and her own ragged breathing and racing heartbeat. But she saw him and the gleaming blade he held in his hand, as he attempted to close the distance. Two other shadows blocked the lamplight from the doorway, and Isabela struggled to keep her cool while still trying to enjoy every moment of the pleasurable stimulation. The dwarf's beady little eyes lit up as he saw the naked pirate and unsuspecting lover. His craggy, weathered face broke into a sinister grin that split his ragged, black beard. He lifted his dagger and took a step forward, before the knife fell to the thick carpet from nerveless fingers. His hands clutched and clawed at the blade suddenly protruding out of his right eye where Isabela had thrown it, but his life ebbed before he could grasp it. The body crumpled silently onto the carpet, twitching and bleeding.

The second dwarf entered the room with knives drawn, quickly followed by the third. Isabela reached for her discarded headscarf, but Hawke chose that moment to nip a very sensitive part of the pirate's anatomy. The already delicious sensations suddenly surged into a crashing wave, starting at her center and flooding every inch of her body. She couldn't help herself; she threw her head back with a shriek of pleasure, barely avoiding the dagger thrown by one of the dwarves at the dusky rogue's neck. The knife clattered to the ground, eliciting a curious noise from Hawke. The Champion began to rise, but Isabela quickly pressed one hand into her lover's hair while making cooing noises. She reached with trembling fingers into her headscarf for the hidden hair clip she usually wore, while Hawke, satisfied with the gentle pressure, giggled and continued her intimate assault. While running her fingers through Hawke's hair with her left hand, she quickly pressed the catch on the clip with her right thumb, revealing the wide, shallow blade hidden in the base and loosening the needle-like spines usually reserved for holding her hair in place.

Isabela flicked her wrist, whipping the spines at one of the assassins, and was about to hurl the broad blade at the other when Hawke did something unexpected. The Fereldan woman placed both hands under the dusky pirate's hips, and lifted upward, pushing Isabela onto her back and lifting her hips completely off the bed. The change in angle and the sudden rush of blood to her head caused the buxom Rivaini to see splashes of color in front of her eyes, each burst punctuated by a pleasure tremor from Hawke's onslaught. The effects shook the winsome swashbuckler like a storm, and she lost her grip on the blade completely in a momentary muscle spasm. It fell soundlessly to the bed, and she quickly groped for it when she had slightly recovered. Her fingers closed around its handle, and she hurled the blade at the other assassin, before grabbing a fistful of sheets and biting her lip again as Hawke's probing continued.

The left dwarf's eyes widened as the needles pierced his skin. He began to raise his hand to pull them out, but before he could lift it past his belt, his knees gave way and he fell to the ground. White foam began to bubble and froth at his mouth, as his nose began to bleed. He twitched several times and was still. The assassin on the right simply gurgled as his bloody hands clawed at the blade buried in his throat. The blood gushed forth in an unstoppable flow, and the doomed dwarf fell to the ground.

Isabela paid the dying killers no heed, focusing entirely on the sensations flooding her body. Hawke was touching her faster, in just the right spots, and the pleasure had built to a crescendo. Isabela couldn't tell whether she was moaning, calling out Hawke's name, or just imagining it; the feelings assaulted her awareness, as her most sensitive skin felt the contrast between the softness of Hawke's tongue and fingertips the small, hard nub of the Champion's metal tongue stud. Her left hand clutched Hawke's hair, while her right threatened to tear the silken sheets she had bunched in her grip. Isabela's muscles were tensed almost painfully as she tried to ride the building sensation as long as she could. Hawke giggled a bit and reached up with her hand, gently brushing the pirate's taut belly, softly stroking Isabela's side, and finally resting on the buxom swashbuckler's left breast. The Champion gently stroked and massaged the marvelous flesh, eliciting more whimpers from her lover, until Hawke finally pushed the quivering woman over the edge by slowly tweaking the nipple ring in a circular motion. The internal dam broke, and the flood of pleasure crashed through any last shreds of resistance that Isabela had been clinging to. She came in wave after wave of pleasurable spasms, the tingling sensations radiating from her core out to the tips of her fingers and toes as she fell back bonelessly onto the stack of cushions.

As she gasped for breath, Isabela realized her voice felt hoarse from the screaming. Her arms and legs felt like they were made of jelly, and her head was still reeling from the strength of her orgasm. She relaxed against the cushions, with a contented smile on her face.

Hawke crawled up the bed and gave the pirate a gentle kiss, before snuggling up to her side. She draped a gentle arm across her buxom lover's shoulders and settled in, before smelling the coppery smell of fresh blood. The self-satisfied smile on the Champion's beautiful face was instantly replaced by a concerned look, as she sat up and quickly scanned the room for hidden assailants. Finding none, she returned to sit next to the pirate who still hadn't moved. She settled down next to her lover, and pursed her lips.

"Isabela..." Hawke began, looking a bit peevish. "Why are there dead Carta dwarves in my bedroom, and why wasn't I aware of it?"

"Oh, were _these_ the dwarves you were talking about earlier?" laughed Isabela. The dusky woman took Hawke's hand in hers and gave the fingers a gentle kiss. "I was going to tell you sooner, but you were doing _such_ a good job that I didn't want to interrupt your concentration," she mused.

"Our lives were in danger, and you didn't think to let me know?" Hawke asked, her crooked grin belying her serious tone.

"I just didn't want you to _stop_. That last trick was _amazing_," she laughed.

Hawke pouted, thrusting out her lower lip. It was adorable. Isabela couldn't help herself; she wrapped one arm around the petulant Champion's shoulders and gave her a gentle kiss.

"You of all people should know that _nothing_ comes between a pirate and her booty," Isabela grinned.

* * *

><p>Merrill hiccupped again. She could tell her cheeks were red; they felt flushed when she touched them with her fingers. Her head was pleasantly spinning, and she giggled.<p>

"Jusht one more," she said. "Then Ishabela and Hawke are gonna come back and we'll have sho much fun..."

She looked at the last glass, and then at the four empty cups before her. She lifted it, and sniffed at the heady fruit flavor. It didn't smell like fresh fruit; it was an almost candied aroma. She lifted the glass and swirled its contents a few times, then took a swallow.

* * *

><p>SHOT #5: SEX ON THE BEACH<p>

Isabela was apprehensive. Ever since they'd managed to escape from the depths of the tomb with the thousand-year-old darkspawn a week before, Hawke had been too... accommodating. The joking wasn't quite there, as if the Champion was being extra careful. The snacks weren't as delicious. And the sex... while it was still better than anything she'd had with anyone else in years, it wasn't as toe-curling, mind-blowing, nearly-pass-out good as it used to be. Hawke had completely avoided any rougher play, and had been exceedingly careful. Isabela wasn't about to complain about the sort of gentle sex that made her feel warm, comfortable and loved from head to toe that she had been getting, but some nights she just wanted it wild, passionate and rough. A week ago, the Fereldan had been a more than enthusiastic partner in that regard. The change in her lover's behavior made the pirate nervous. It felt like a storm was brewing just over the horizon, and it set the pirate's teeth on edge.

When Hawke had appeared at the Hanged Man tonight with a welcome smile, Isabela's heart leaped to her throat, and she hurriedly agreed to Hawke's request without really listening to what it was. The nervousness hung over her like a storm cloud that threatened to burst at any moment. The two walked and joked and flirted like usual, and under any other circumstances the pirate would have taken the initiative to steal kisses and naughty touches, but tonight she was as demure as any Chantry sister. Her surprise only grew when they had reached the docks, and the Champion pulled her aside, untied the red sash of victory that the swashbuckler wore on her arm, and used it to blindfold the confused pirate.

Isabela was no stranger to being blindfolded before, but there was always the thrill of the unknown that heightened the sensations she felt while robbed of her sense of sight. She could tell that they were moving southwest, and she knew that they were near her ship, but each time Hawke pressed that warm hand of hers to the dusky Rivaini's back, the sudden warmth and pressure elicited a small, pleasurable sensation along Isabela's spine. Hawke didn't touch the same place either. Each time she changed direction, it was always different. The buccaneer stepped carefully to avoid stumbling, and attempted to guess where Hawke was leading her. She felt the stone beneath her feet turn to old wooden planking, and she guessed they had walked about a hundred paces before stopping. The night was quiet; the only sounds besides their own soft breathing were from the surf and the sea.

"Sit," Hawke ordered. The blindfolded woman complied, sitting back and finding a hard, wooden surface behind her. She sat for a moment, enjoying the midnight breeze, before jumping in surprise as she felt gentle fingers on her thigh. Hawke worked the buckles and straps on her left boot, then lifted her ankle and slid the boot and sock off. Isabela lowered her bare foot, and felt the ridges of the old wood under her toes. Hawke slowly removed the Rivaini's other boot, gently squeezing and caressing the calf as she did so. The pirate heard Hawke walk off a bit and place her boots off to her left.

"Hawke, are you going to tell me what's going on?" asked Isabela. She heard a small giggle, and something soft was pressed to her lips. A fingertip. Isabela smiled internally and sucked on it a little bit. The Champion almost immediately withdrew it, but Isabela could almost see the blush she knew was growing on Hawke's cheeks. She laughed.

"Stand up," commanded Hawke. The pirate did so, and Hawke took her by the arm and walked her a few more steps on the dry wood, before stopping. The cool night air felt wonderful on her bare legs, and she leaned her head back to catch some of the breeze on her chin and neck. A soft hand touched the side of her face, and she turned to press her cheek into the palm of the hand. Gentle softness touched her lips; even blindfolded, the canny Rivaini recognized the distinct feeling of Hawke's lips immediately. They kissed for moments, pressing their warm bodies against each other. Isabela's apprehension briefly melted away, before the gentle hand that had been on her shoulder slid down a bit just over her heart.

Then it pushed.

Isabela's eyes widened in surprise behind her blindfold as she lost her balance. The feeling of panic mixed with her apprehension, and for a moment she was completely lost in the fear. She fell backward, terror clutching at her insides. In that brief instant she felt the sharp, painful stab of genuine loneliness, a feeling she had not felt in years. It came rushing back unbidden, and felt even more painful in contrast to the feelings of warmth in her heart that she had been getting used to. Something inside her snapped. She refused to believe it, and fought tooth and nail inside her being to crush the feelings into a tiny ball and throw them away. She rejected the loneliness, and in that moment decided to place her trust in Hawke. She closed her eyes, relaxed and let gravity do its work. Then her eyes widened again in her second surprise of the night.

Rather than cushions, or a mattress, she fell into cool liquid. The water was surprisingly warm for that time of night. As she fell into it, the first sensation was comfortable wetness, and not the usual icy chill she expected from the sea. A quick lick of her lips told her it was salty, and she could tell by the scent of clean air that they were on the outskirts of the docks, probably on old Regan's pier. It was a popular dock for small fishing boats, the kind an oarsman or two would take on a day trip for snapper or sea bream. The water enveloped her, cooling her down and shocking her out of her introspection. She yanked off the blindfold and frantically looked around for the woman that had pushed her in. Hawke stood grinning on the pier, her bright eyes twinkling with mirth, and her smile was dazzling in the moonlight. She shrugged off the fine silk tunic she had been wearing and tossed it into the small pile of clothing in the wooden boat moored to the pier. Wearing only her underclothes, the statuesque woman dove gracefully into the water next to Isabela.

Isabela retied the red sash about her arm while waiting for her lover to resurface. When the Champion finally appeared, the pirate grinned. "Why the elaborate ruse, Hawke? If you wanted to have sex on the docks, all you had to do was ask."

"It's not about the sex," smiled Hawke, swimming nearer to the pirate. She splashed a bit of the cool water at the buccaneer. Isabela raised a lovely eyebrow.

"Alright, it's not _just_ about the sex," amended Hawke. "I have my reasons for bringing you out here tonight," she added, pointing toward the beach. In the distance, a small fire danced and twinkled invitingly.

"A plan indeed. And here I was thinking we would just rut in the water," nodded Isabela.

"And I'll even give you something special when we get there. On one condition," teased the Champion as she eased herself nearer to the pirate.

"What might that be?" asked the swimming swashbuckler.

"You have to catch me, first," giggled Hawke, as she pressed both hands down on Isabela's shoulders, dunking the dusky woman under the surface, before starting her swim toward the shore.

Isabela broke the surface and shook the water from her face. "Oh, you'll _pay_ for that!" she laughed, kicking her feet and propelling herself through the water after Hawke. The Fereldan was definitely a healthy woman in many aspects (as Isabela's carvings had depicted), and she was a strong swimmer. But she was laughing in the water, and the pirate had lived for years on the sea. In minutes, Isabela had not only caught up to the Champion but had begun toying with her. First, she swam alongside and splashed at the Fereldan, causing Hawke to shriek and giggle like a schoolgirl. Then she swam beneath the her lover, tantalizing her with light touches along her belly, or stealing squeezes of those gorgeous round breasts of hers that strained against the soaked undergarments. Finally, as they reached the shallows, Isabela pounced, tackling her target in the water and wrapping both arms around her, clutching at her and feeling the smooth softness of her skin. Hawke paused for a moment to enjoy the sensation, before Isabela grinned wickedly and struck. Her hands moved so fast they were a blur, as she unhooked Hawke's top with practiced ease, and took off at a run through the surf with the undergarment streaming from her hand like a victory flag, laughing all the way.

"Isabela, get back here!" shouted Hawke as her face went scarlet and she frantically gave chase while trying to cover herself with one arm.

"Come and get me," teased the pirate as she turned and dangled the brassiere like bait. The canny swashbuckler dashed backward each time the Champion made a grab for the soaking garment, as the two giggled merrily at the other's antics. Finally, sides in stitches from the laughter, Isabela relented and let Hawke snatch it from her. Hawke quickly put it on and shivered when the cool breeze touched her wet skin. Isabela put one arm around the grateful Champion's shoulders, and they huddled against each other for warmth as they walked on the wet sand in the moonlight toward the cheery fire.

A heavy woolen blanket had been laid out next to the crackling fire, and a large wicker basket housed several large towels and a bottle of spiced wine. The pirate stripped off her wet clothes and draped a heavy towel around her shoulders before sitting down next to Hawke by the fire. The pirate smiled and extended the large towel, wrapping it around both of their shoulders. Hawke leaned her head against Isabela's shoulder and snuggled closer for warmth. Isabela yanked the cork out of the wine bottle with her teeth and spat it off to the side. She tilted back the bottle and took a long draught before passing it to Hawke. The liquid warmed her insides quickly, and the smile on her face grew. The fire crackled and popped cheerily, radiating its warm, orange heat on the pair. Finally, after another deep drink from the wine bottle, Isabela broke the silence.

"So why the elaborate seduction tonight, hm? Not that it isn't appreciated, mind you," she sniffed.

"I wanted to tell you something," said Hawke.

The pirate froze, suddenly nervous again. She waited for the Champion to continue.

"You said something, while we were in that ancient darkspawn prison last week. I... didn't know what to say about that," admitted Hawke. "I wanted to apologize to you."

Isabela was taken aback. "What did I say?"

"You said that the next time I asked you for help you were going to say no," murmured Hawke. Isabela burst into peals of girlish laughter.

"You goose," the buxom Rivaini gently chided. "Of all the times you choose to start listening to what I say, you have to go and pick that one," she sighed.

"What? You sounded serious!" said Hawke defensively.

"I said that right after I told you that I preferred ancient towers full of coin to darkspawn," chuckled the pirate. "If you're going to start taking that seriously, I'm still awaiting my ancient tomb full of coin."

Isabela sighed and slipped one arm around Hawke's waist, giving her a gentle squeeze. Looking up into the night sky, she murmured, "Should you need it, I'll have your back as long as you'll have me."

"Oh, I'll have you all right," Hawke laughed. The swashbuckler looked at her with a curious grin.

"Why don't you ever joke like this in front of the others?" Isabela wondered aloud. "The only one who believes me when I tell them about our adventures is Merrill," she complained. "I'm not even sure _she_ believed me when I told her about the _new_ lightning thing," she added.

"Well, I might be persuaded to if _someone_ would accompany me to all those dinners and parties," offered Hawke.

"Why _do_ you keep going to them? No bullshit, Hawke. It's just us now," replied the pirate.

"It's fun to get dressed in fine clothes and try delicious foods," shrugged the Champion. "And I really would love to show you off," she continued.

"Show me... wouldn't you be ashamed of me in front of all of those hightown aristocrats? I'm certainly not their kind of woman," the dusky woman sniffed.

"I don't care what _they_ think. You're _my_ kind of woman, and I want them to all know that my kind of woman is stunning, sexy and strong," murmured Hawke. "I keep telling them that my heart belongs to someone special, but you never come so they don't believe me, or think I'm just playing hard to get," she sighed.

Isabela colored a bit. "I-is that so?" she said.

Hawke closed her eyes and leaned against the corsair. "That's so," she said quietly.

"I... _suppose_ I could be persuaded to attend more of those parties then," Isabela offered. "On one condition," she continued, untying the sash from her arm.

Hawke sat up, curious. "What might that be?" she asked as the pirate began tying the sash around the Champion's eyes in a blindfold. Isabela was suddenly gone, and the large towel they had been sharing with her. Hawke sat for a moment, her body suddenly feeling very sensitive to the cool night air and the sounds of the crackling fire.

"I get to choose our entertainment afterwards," came the Rivaini's voice, as the gentle, teasing touches from every which way began.

* * *

><p>Isabela stopped and stretched at the top of the stairs, leaned back and felt the tension disperse from her muscles. She idly scratched her back with one hand and turned to glance at Hawke. The Fereldan woman took careful, ginger steps behind her, massaging her hip with one hand.<p>

"Isabela, if you're going to do _that_ to me again, can we at least do it at _my_ home? I don't relish the idea of getting a splinter there," sighed Hawke.

"You certainly didn't complain while I was _doing_ it," smirked the pirate. "Hold up a moment," she commanded, licking her fingers and trying to clean up Hawke's disheveled hair. The Champion put her hands on the corsair's chest, smoothing out the wrinkled clothing and giving her glorious breasts a light squeeze. Isabela licked her lips, then gently kissed Hawke. She leaned into the embrace and the two were lost for a moment before Hawke broke the kiss.

"What about Merrill? We should go check on her," Hawke said, concerned. Isabela glanced around the corner. The slim elf girl was sleeping on her folded arms, with five empty cups around her. The young blood mage was flushed and she had a pleasant smile on her face. Occasionally, her leg would twitch. Isabela grinned as Hawke leaned against her from behind.

"Is she alright?" asked Hawke, wrapping her arms around Isabela's waist.

"Kitten's fine. I think she enjoyed my gift," nodded Isabela. "Another round, then?" she asked, mischief dancing in her eyes.

"Just a quick one," nodded Hawke, as the two returned to the pirate's room.

* * *

><p>BONUS:<p>

"Right this way, Kitten. I know I've been promising this lesson to you for a while, and now is the perfect time for it," said Isabela with a mischievous smirk, as they walked through the hallway of the Hanged Man.

"What lesson is this, Isabela?" asked the curious elf. She paused. "Are we taking a bath together again?" she asked excitedly.

The canny pirate swirled the contents of a glass bottle in front of the blood mage. "We're finally going to teach you all about body shots," smirked the buccaneer.

"Are we doing these body shots with each other? Won't Hawke be upset?" Merrill inquired. As an answer, Isabela opened the door to her room with a wide grin and ushered her inside.

Merrill blushed profusely upon entering. Hawke was on the bed, with both arms and legs tied firmly to the bedposts with red silk scarves. She was stark naked.

"Isabela, is this why you had to run off? I've half a mind to-" began Hawke, before Isabela cut her off with a kiss.

"Now now, the teaching aide should remain quiet. Mostly," nodded Isabela, as she gagged Hawke with another silk scarf. Hawke made a mumbled protest through the gag, before falling silent when Isabela uncorked the bottle and said, "Kitten, let's begin the lesson."

* * *

><p><em>Author's Note:<em>

_Sorry for the delay on this one. It originally started in concept as a collection of four short stories (shots), that I had started writing, and then was struck by inspiration for a fifth. Along the way, the titles of each shot changed around a bit, and ended up being the names of different kinds of cocktails or shooters. Then, since I had them all nicely written already, I decided to insert a framing story, and had the wonderful idea of having Merrill play-act for both Isabela and Hawke. The core concept wasn't so much the drama, so much as shot-sized stories that showcase the day-to-day._

_Special thanks go to Jessie, Hanna and Candice for this one. They have each provided a good deal of inspiration for this particular set of stories. The usual heaps of gratitude for my prereaders - without you, none of this would be possible. Also, if you haven't seen them yet, the talented artists who have volunteered their time and energy for Snacking-related pieces are absolutely wonderful. Check them out:_

_Tutchangers(dot)deviantart(dot)com_

_Wikdvalkyrie(dot)deviantart(dot)com_

_I've still a few ideas for the next story in the series, so don't count me out yet. We'll see what happens if/when they announce another story DLC... I really liked the last one, but lament that there isn't quite enough Isabela in it. Everything could use more Isabela. Mmm, that might make for an interesting story... Isabela meets Isabela. In a time-traveling scenario. I'll have to write that one down..._


	11. Mirror, Mirror

Mirror, Mirror

by Hoorayforicecream

_Tap tap tap tap. _

Merrill tried to focus on the cards in her hand. Two serpents, two swords. She pursed her lips and tapped on her cheek with her index finger. Two serpents and two swords meant that she had a reasonable chance to win. She lifted her eyes from her cards and looked across the table. The voluptuous pirate sat opposite the slim elf, drumming her fingers on her cards lying face-down and staring off into the distance. Isabela looked... distracted.

_Tap tap tap tap._

The unsure mage glanced at her hand again, then at the small pile of coins in the center of the old oak table. She tapped her lips with her index finger, before finally laying her cards on the table.

"I have two serpents and two swords," she declared happily.

Isabela sighed and flipped her cards over, revealing three crowns and a shield. "Three crowns, Kitten. The pot is mine," she said, as she pulled the silver and copper coin to her heap. Merrill looked down mournfully at her rapidly dwindling stacks. The pirate quickly separated her winnings by coin denomination before shuffling the deck with practiced, quick hands. She bridged the deck and was about to deal again, when she noticed Merrill gazing raptly at her hands. Sighing again, the buccaneer handed the deck to Merrill.

"Why don't you try dealing this time, Kitten?" Isabela asked as she slid a copper coin into the pot for the ante.

"Oh! Of course!" nodded Merrill eagerly. She carefully separated the cards into two piles. She stuck her tongue out and pressed down with her index fingers. The elf concentrated hard as she carefully bent each pile at the middle, and brought her thumbs up alongside each stack of cards.

_*Fwump*_

The cards remained in two piles, adjacent to each other. One stack was noticeably bent. Merrill tried again, carefully separating the cards and bringing her thumbs up along the sides each stack. She did not notice Isabela's left eyebrow twitch.

_*Fwump*_

This time, the stacks of cards had been merged, but in three large, discrete sections. She had successfully gotten one stack firmly wedged between the cards of the other. She pushed the stacks together, and prepared to shuffle a third time, when Isabela reached across the table and placed a hand on her wrist.

"Kitten, you can just deal the cards," the pirate said in a tired voice.

Merrill nodded happily, and dealt them each a new hand. The cheerful elf raised her cards to look at them. She had four crowns. She smiled happily and hummed a bit to herself. Isabela's eyebrow twitched again. Isabela glanced over her cards once, and laid them face down on the table.

"Fold," the buccaneer said.

Merrill's face fell as she sadly pulled in the two bits from the pot. She split the cards into two piles and prepared to shuffle again, when the dusky corsair interrupted her.

"I can't stand it anymore, Kitten. We need to do something else," she declared, the exasperation showing through her voice. She stood up from the seat and began to walk toward the privy.

"Is there something wrong, Isabela? You seem a bit... edgy. Where's Hawke tonight?"

The captain sighed, and answered, "The Champion of Kirkwall is in Ostwick for the week. She was sent there as Kirkwall's representative for some annual peace conference, along with..."

* * *

><p>"Guard Captain Aveline Hendyr of Kirkwall!" bellowed the old, balding herald. With a loud clap, the row of five armored Ostwick guardsmen all saluted, fist to chest, as she passed. Her polished, ceremonial armor clanked as she moved, but she strode toward the tavern with purpose. The alehouse was full of foreigners; many nobles and their servants had taken lodging at the next door inn for the sake of the peace conference, and were interested in relaxing after a long day of deliberation. A trio of lutists played a jolly tune, and she could hear raucous laughter and dice being rolled at some of the tables. She paid them no heed. Her target sat on a polished wooden stool, hunched over her beverage while pushing around a small bit of sausage in the ceramic plate set before her. Aveline took a moment to observe.<p>

A pair of young men approached the woman at the bar with eager smiles, and attempted to engage in conversation. They were jovial, with well-trimmed beards and colorful clothing belying their noble status. One raised his mug in salute to the lady. The target smiled a bit and and gently shook her head, politely declining their requests. The men nodded and left, and the target returned to pushing her sausage bit with her silverware. Aveline walked over and pulled up the stool to her mark's right.

Aveline sat down on the stool heavily, and pulled off her left gauntlet and set it on the bar. She silently raised two fingers at the barkeep and pointed down with both. The heavy-set bartender nodded in her direction, then bellowed some instructions into the kitchen, where an equally rotund woman grunted acknowledgement. Confident her order had been properly placed, the redheaded firebrand turned to her neighbor and nodded.

"Hawke," greeted the armored lady.

"Aveline," nodded Hawke, poking at the sausage.

"Is something bothering you? You've seemed distracted since we arrived," observed Aveline, as the bartender placed a mug full of frothy amber liquid before her.

"I could use something to punch. Do you suppose the Teyrn of Ostwick would mind if I started a bar brawl?" Hawke wondered aloud.

"You sound like someone else I know, " Aveline chuckled. "Except she wouldn't ask if it's a good idea first," she added.

Hawke pursed her lips. "His Grace probably wouldn't appreciate the Champion of Kirkwall starting a fight with the other delegates during the peace summit, would he?" she asked. "I suspect that somewhere, someone would get a wonderful laugh out of this. 'Free Marcher Peace Summit ends in civil war' has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?"

"I've seen you handle worse. The Knight-Commander and the First Enchanter back home make the nobles gathered here look like squabbling lay sisters," Aveline sniffed. "Everyone is worried about the situation in Kirkwall, especially the Lord Chancellor of Tantervale. They've got the only other circle remaining in the Marches, and the unrest there is brewing as easily as it is back home."

"Hawke to the rescue again, is it?" sighed the Champion. "Why can't anyone just invite me over for tea? Must it always be impending disaster everywhere I go?"

"You do have plenty of invitations to fancy parties back home, you know," replied the guard captain.

"I would prefer it to what I've been doing these past weeks," said Hawke, punctuating her displeasure by skewering the sausage piece with her fork. "First it's the Carta trying to kill me yet again, followed by a delightful romp through an ancient tomb with a thousand-year-old darkspawn, then the wyvern hunt at the manor house with that strange little Qunari, then more imperial slavers in Darktown, topped off by a flock of abominations eating the poor elves in the alienage. And here we are in Ostwick for a peace summit for all the Marchers."

"You've always led a busy life, Hawke," chuckled Aveline. "Why complain now? It's been like this ever since you arrived in Kirkwall."

"Not _quite_ like this... it just seems being Champion means I have less and less time for myself or those I care about," sighed Hawke. "These past weeks especially; I've just been feeling positively exhausted."

Aveline nodded somberly. "Perhaps you should take some time for yourself after this is over," she suggested.

Hawke silently cut her sausage piece in half with the side of her fork. She poked one of the pieces with the silverware, pushing it into the mashed potatoes on the far end of the plate. The bartender placed a similar ceramic plate of sausage, mixed vegetables, and mashed potatoes on the bar in front of Aveline, grunted, then turned to serve a group of men who had just entered the inn. The armored woman glanced at Hawke and frowned.

"I know that look, Hawke. This isn't just about being tired. What's the real problem?" asked Aveline.

* * *

><p>"Problem? No, no problems at all. Things are fine, Kitten, wonderful in fact. I'm finally free from being smothered by Hawke all the time," laughed Isabela, but the quizzical mage stopped her.<p>

"Are you sure? You seem a little bit sad... and quite a bit more short tempered than I've seen you in ages," observed Merrill, the concern evident in her voice.

"Your mind is playing tricks on you, I just haven't been getting enough sleep recently," said Isabela quickly. She was unable to hold eye contact with the young mage, and began pacing nervously with her arms folded.

"Tell me what's wrong, Isabela. Please," asked the elf, her voice full of innocence and sincerity.

The pirate paused for a moment. "I..." Isabela tried to speak, but trailed off. Her resolve crumbled before those earnest doe eyes. "Fine," she sighed.

"I haven't ridden the bucking bronto in over two weeks," admitted the pirate.

Merrill's eyes went wide. "I never knew you could ride brontos. They always seemed too ornery to accept saddles. Didn't some of them try to kill us before?" marveled the elf.

Isabela halted her movement and glanced at the young mage sharply, her brow furrowed. "No, Kitten. I meant that I haven't had a box lunch in a while," tried the buccaneer.

"You don't seem starved. Don't they serve meals at the Hanged Man?" Merrill wondered. "I suppose they might not be terribly appetizing, what with the drunks, and the rats, and probably the drunken rats..."

Isabela sighed and placed her right palm on her forehead. "I haven't... worshiped at Hawke's altar," she said, her eyebrow twitching a bit.

Merrill cocked her head to one side, and thought for a moment. "I never knew Hawke had an altar. Is it for her mother? Should I go and offer my prayers too?" she asked.

Isabela looked at the elf incredulously, before gesturing up and down her voluptuous body. "I haven't had any horizontal refreshment. Hot rolls with cream. Enjoyed any giblet pie. Eaten out at the oyster bar!" she declared.

"Are you hungry, Isabela? Would you like me to make you something to eat? I have some cheese and a loaf of bread. Perhaps you'd like some fresh fruit? A peach perhaps?" offered the willowy maiden.

Isabela collapsed into one of the chairs and leaned back. She tried to speak several times, but no words came out. Finally, she spoke. "No, Kitten. I don't think you have what I'm hungry for in your larder."

"I don't understand. What's wrong?" asked the confused elf.

"I haven't had sex for over two weeks," sighed Isabela woefully, slumping low in her chair.

Merrill looked at her for a moment, before spots of color bloomed on her tattooed cheeks. "Oh," she squeaked.

"It's all this blasted Champion business," continued the pirate, as she gestured irritably with her right hand. "Champion this, and Champion that. Champion, recover the lost vase of Bootsy Beremus. Champion, save us from the followers of the Dancing Demon of Deregor. Champion, come and rescue my nubile young daughter who will happily throw herself at your feet and fulfill your every desire. Sometimes I wish I had never fallen for her," she said, pouting angrily and folding her arms in her chair.

* * *

><p>Aveline laughed, a combination between a girlish giggle and a deep, throaty chuckle. She put a reassuring hand on the morose Fereldan's shoulder as she took a bite of her potato.<p>

"It's not as bad as you think, Hawke," the guard captain said. "Do you remember that first year, when I would come to you for advice with Donnic?"

Hawke poked at her sausage again with the fork. "A little," she nodded. "I remember that it took a while to convince you that the metal trinkets were best kept for the metal mongers."

Aveline colored a bit, then nodded. "Do you remember what you told me, when the Qunari were still in Kirkwall?"

"I'm pretty sure I told you a lot of things," mumbled Hawke, before taking a swallow from her tankard.

"You said it would get better," nodded the redhead. "You were right. When we had our hands full with the Qunari and Petrice's followers, I barely had any time to see Donnic at all. Back then I often wondered whether I had made a mistake, getting into a relationship with him. I could tell I cared for him deeply, but I wasn't able to spend the time with him that I wished I could."

Hawke looked at the armored woman with her bright, piercing eyes. "How did you work through it?" asked the Champion.

"Don't you remember me asking you that same question, Hawke?" smiled Aveline.

Hawke shook her head.

"You told me that Donnic is the sort who appreciates backbone and honesty," explained the captain. "We didn't get to see much of each other at the start. The riots we had to put down saw to that. And that whole affair with the crazed elf and poisoned gas... it inspired a number of imitators as well. "

"So what's the answer?" asked the Champion, finally looking Aveline in the eye.

The armored woman smiled warmly at the curious look in Hawke's piercing blue gaze. "I don't see you like this often, Hawke. Usually you're the one doing the leading," she laughed.

"Enjoy it while you can, Aveline. I am interested in hearing the tale, if you please," smiled Hawke.

"We _made_ time for each other. Perhaps it was sharing a patrol, or just... taking a step back and letting others cover for us."

"I'd love to take a break, Aveline, but you know how much people need the Champion of Kirkwall. If it isn't an armada of demon pirate abominations, it's an army of fanatic dwarven cheese merchants," sighed the Champion. "Just last month, three young women went missing on the docks and it was all because some nutter who fancies blonde women with green eyes decided that it wasn't sufficient to just admire them from afar, but to gut them like freshly-caught fish."

"I know you're the Champion, Hawke. I've seen you at the Viscount's castle, and I've seen you running yourself ragged. Nobody is as good as you at saving the city from itself. But at some point, you need to step back and trust the rest of us to help shoulder that burden," comforted Aveline. "I've been training the guard in some of your combat tricks. Fenris has helped as well, and even Sebastian and Varric have come by to instruct the guardsmen in archery. They may not be the Champion of Kirkwall, but these are strong, dependable men and women, Hawke. Let us help."

"Can it really be that easy?" wondered Hawke as she stared into her mug.

"It's probably the hardest thing I've ever had to do. I worried myself sick at the start. But think about it a bit, Hawke. Would you trust me with your life?" asked Aveline.

The Champion nodded.

"I trust them too. If I am personally needed, I'll be there. But you have to learn to let go, or you'll burn out the candle from both ends, and all parts in between," advised the solemn warrior.

Hawke sighed and took a long pull from her mug. She clapped a hand on armored lady's shoulder and nodded. "You're right, Aveline. I hate to admit it, but I've been exhausting myself lately. I'll try."

A moment passed in silence as both women continued to eat. The somber mood remained in the air; it exerted an almost palpable pressure on Hawke's skin as she took a small bite of the sausage.

"Aveline, what do you and Donnic do to stay... happy?" asked Hawke quietly.

Aveline took a moment to process the question. "Happy?"

"Yes... When you've been busy and haven't had time together for a while, what do you do when you finally see each other again?" asked Hawke.

Aveline broke into a smile, and said "Oh, when I see him, I just tell him those three words he's been aching to hear..."

* * *

><p>"... Hawke. Sex. Now. That's what I'll say to her," declared the pirate. "She'll be back in a few days, and then I can finally get this itch scratched. If she's not too busy being Champion still..."<p>

Merrill patted her on the forearm. "I'm sure you'll both soon be waxing halla horns by moonlight with fresh beeswax," reassured the young elf.

Isabela raised a lovely eyebrow in confusion.

"Oh yes, I keep forgetting that you humans don't have halla. If you were Dalish, you'd probably be blushing to your earlobes right now. Well, perhaps not you in particular, Isabela, what with all of your past love affairs and such..." began the elf. "But why don't you just go to that brothel place? Isn't that what it's for?"

"The Blooming Rose? I haven't sampled their wares since I tried the Bad Girl Special," said Isabela, with a dismissive wave of her hand. "That certainly left a bad taste in my mouth. I've been so busy with helping Hawke perform her Champion duties lately as well... "

The pirate paused for a moment, imagining partaking of the delights at the Blooming Rose. She smiled a bit, but then an uncomfortable thought in the back of her mind filled her belly with a feeling of unease. She frowned.

"I'm sure Hawke would understand," offered Merrill. "You wouldn't mind if the situations were reversed, would you?"

"Of course not," scoffed the pirate, but the frown remained on her face. She recalled a mental image of one of Hawke's better performances. Every pleasant touch, every tender kiss. The frown melted away and she smiled for a moment before her imagination took over.

Her mental image blurred, as the fantasy Isabela became a youthful blonde Orlesian woman instead. The mystery woman had creamy alabaster skin, full pink lips, and long blonde hair done up in an Orlesian braid. She lay on the silken sheets of the bed, reaching up to cradle the dream Hawke's chin with long, slender fingers. The sheets were bunched up in her tightly balled fist, and her body arched in pleasure as the dream Hawke stroked the Orlesian's side and taut stomach. As dream Hawke bent to nibble at the blonde's earlobe, the roiling discomfort in Isabela's belly flared up. She tried to fight it back, she tried to simply enjoy watching two beautiful women enjoy each others' bodies, but when Hawke went for the mystery woman's left breast, Isabela shut her eyes and willed her imagination to stop. With a final silent moan of ecstasy, the imaginary woman finally dissipated from behind her eyelids. Isabela gently touched two fingers to the outline of the ring affixed to her left nipple beneath her tunic.

"Are you all right, Isabela? You looked ill for a moment there," asked the concerned mage.

The buccaneer brushed the question aside. "In any case, I need to save my coin to refurbish my ship. Hawke's been helping me with it little by little, and we're almost done. You're welcome to join us for her maiden voyage once we finish, Kitten," she offered, sitting up in her seat.

"Oh, that sounds lovely. I've never been on the deck of an actual boat on the sea," marveled the willowy mage.

"Ship," gently corrected the dusky captain.

"Ship. Right," nodded Merrill.

"She's been working so hard lately," Isabela went on. "She doesn't think I notice, but I do. Bags under her eyes are not a good look for her. She's been a bit paler than usual, and the last time we were having sex, she fell asleep in the middle of it. If she had been anyone else, I'd probably have stabbed her. As it was, I just felt insulted."

"Was it really so bad, Isabela?" asked Merrill, gently patting Isabela's arm.

"Well... no... not _really_," admitted the pirate. She leaned back, before continuing, "She was doing this lovely tongue trick she does, the one I've told you about. I was enjoying her ministrations and was _so_ close to the edge when she just... stopped. At first I thought she was just trying something new... you know, a little teasing just before closing in for the kill. But then she just lay there, and I... I didn't have the heart to wake her."

"It sounds like it's not just the dirty excursions concerning you, Isabela," observed the elf.

Isabela sighed. "You're right. It's just... "

* * *

><p>"... I'm not sure what to do," said Hawke, finally. "I've tried speaking to her, but she's been... distant. When I'd find a little time to see her, she wouldn't speak much."<p>

"Get straight to the bending over, did she?" scoffed Aveline.

The Champion blushed. Aveline raised an eyebrow.

"Well, I can understand her wanting to make the most of what time she has with you," began the guardswoman, but Hawke held a hand up.

"It's not quite the same with Isabela," said Hawke sadly. "It didn't _feel_ the same. I'm worried that what I'm going to lose her, that somehow I just... can't be enough for her."

Aveline took a long pull from her tankard and sighed. "Hawke, if you ever breathe even a hint of what I am about to tell you, I swear I will deny every last word," warned the armored lady, pinching the bridge of her nose.

The Fereldan woman nodded quietly.

"Despite all of her shortcomings, and there are _many_..." started Aveline. "Underneath all the slutty clothing, the shallow personality, the lack of anything resembling morals, questionable taste in sexual partners, total disregard for the law, an utter lack of anything resembling self-control, no sense of propriety, that slovenly vagrant's outlook on life..."

Hawke couldn't help but chuckle as Aveline continued her list at length.

"... drinking too much, willingness to fight dirty, tendency to use poison, eagerness to cheat at cards, nosiness in others' affairs, disrespect of others' property..."

Hawke nodded with a small smile on her face as she mentally pictured Isabela, cheerfully smiling at Aveline's ongoing description of her.

Aveline paused to take a deep breath and a long pull from her tankard before continuing, "... and as much as it pains me to say it... She's actually a good friend, a stalwart companion, and a fundamentally decent, caring person." She gave Hawke's shoulder a small squeeze, and went on, "Most importantly, she makes you happy. I've seen how nauseatingly joyful you are when you're with her, and, despite her best efforts to hide it, she's a better person when you're around. It seems to me that just giving up on something like that would be foolish."

Hawke bristled. "Now hold on one moment there! Who said anything about giving up?" she demanded.

"You don't intend to give up? You've always been the one with the plan, Hawke. When we began, whose plan was it that got us to Kirkwall?"

The Fereldan sat silently.

"Whose plan funded the Deep Roads expedition?"

"You speak as if that plan didn't go totally sideways," sighed Hawke.

"Aye, but it was still your plan that got us out of there safely," replied her freckled friend. "And don't forget, it was your plan that earned you the title and medal that came with it."

Hawke sighed. "When it comes to her, I'm afraid. If I say the wrong thing, or I don't do the right thing at the right time, I'm afraid she'll just... disappear and I'll never see her again."

"I seem to recall a high dragon that would have eaten us if you hadn't said and done the right thing at the appropriate time," scoffed the captain. "I _also_ seem to recall a certain slutty pirate running off and then returning to you as well, Hawke. _Twice_, if memory serves," added Aveline with a smirk.

"I'd rather deal with a giant monster trying to eat me. At least then I'd know where I stand," grumbled the Champion of Kirkwall. She sighed again. "You're right, of course. I should approach this like any other dangerous task. I just need to be mindful of the consequences, and plan accordingly," she said before tilting the tankard up.

Aveline looked at her with a confident smile and said, "You could always offer her copper marigolds."

Hawke choked on her ale. "That wasn't funny," she coughed.

"It wasn't entirely meant to be," smiled Aveline. "To be honest, I can't begin to understand what goes on in that head of hers. I'm not entirely convinced anything actually does. But even I can see that she cares for you. You should be there with her. You'll figure the rest out on your own. Even if that means you have to flip her fat ass over oversized tits..."

* * *

><p>"... three or four times a night," beamed Isabela. "More, when she's feeling frisky."<p>

Merrill's eyes went wide as saucers. She blinked and, with a sly look on her face, said, "Is it really that good? Didn't you say what you did was only skin-deep?"

"Oh, when Hawke puts her mind to it, she's absolutely _wonderful_. It's... I just feel it, from the inside of my belly all the way down to the tips of my toes. I can't completely describe how delicious that feeling is. It's like... the freedom of sailing mixed with the intensity of sex and still being wrapped in a warm blanket of comfort, all at the same time," sighed the buccaneer wistfully. "It's almost like I'm weightless, floating in perfect bliss. I..." the captain trailed off. She cocked her head and thought a moment.

"Hmm... it really isn't, is it?" she murmured quietly.

"It sounds wonderful, Isabela. It never feels like that when I do it," admitted the elf. Her eyes widened again and she blushed. "Not that I've done it very often! Or with anyone! It's always been by myself! Not that there's anything wrong with any of those things! I'm rambling again, aren't I? Stop talking, Merrill," she stammered.

"Oh, Kitten," laughed Isabela. She placed a hand reassuringly on the embarrassed elf's arm. The pirate smirked, "There is nothing wrong with enjoying yourself. I do it myself from time to time, especially recently. If you hadn't fainted after the second body shot of our lesson last time, I could have _shown_ you."

"That's hardly fair, Isabela!" protested the elf. "It was so _warm_ in your room, and... and... You and Hawke were being so... articulate!"

"She was hardly able to do much at the start. She was bound, gagged, and completely _compliant_," replied the buccaneer blandly.

"The last thing I remember was thinking that it was awfully hot in your room at the time. Then you bent over Hawke to drink your own shot, and then... I woke up in my home, tucked into my bed," said Merrill.

"You can thank Hawke for that. I wanted to put you up in Varric's room," smirked Isabela. She scoffed when she saw the elf turn those big, green eyes on her. "Oh, don't give me that look. I only have the one bed, and I couldn't bear to put you on the floor. And the bed was _occupied_."

"Hawke's always been so nice to me, even when the others aren't," said Merrill. "I don't mean you, of course, you've always been so kind to me. I meant more that Hawke is the one I can always turn to for help."

The dusky pirate nodded. "She is, isn't she?"

Merrill sighed, and folded her hands in her lap. "There was no one who would even listen when I needed the Arulin'Holm, years ago. Varric said he was no good with elves, Aveline wouldn't speak to me for fear of alerting the templars, and even you said that you weren't any good at this sort of thing-"

Isabela colored slightly. "I'm sorry, Kitten. If I had known how important it was..." she began, but the elf smiled and held up a hand.

"It's alright, Isabela. I understand that not everyone can do something like that. But Hawke did. She was there for me, and stood with me when I invoked the _vir sulevanan_. And she was with me when we defeated the Varterral," said Merrill.

"She really is something else... Before Hawke, I can't remember the last time anyone's really had my back the way she does. The closest I've ever had were my crew, but they were still lying, thieving, conniving sea dogs to the core. I could trust them to do their jobs, but for as long as I can remember, I've always had to watch my own back," agreed the captain. "But then I met her, and she... she just keeps surprising me," she admitted.

"I've seen the way she looks at you. Always stealing glances, always smiling when she thinks you aren't looking. She's been so busy lately, and we've all seen how it's been trying for her. But I'm sure she has a good reason," observed the willowy mage.

"She does. It's always a good reason... That's the problem with being a Champion. Someone always needs rescuing, some injustice always needs to be righted, and always, always when it's least convenient. If I had my way, she'd get a lot more rest," replied Isabela. "Also, naked," she added.

"And we're back to naked," laughed the elf.

"Naked is a wonderful place to be, Kitten," agreed the pirate with a beautiful smile. "_Especially_ when talking about Hawke."

"I'm glad you're smiling again, Isabela. I wish I had a lover who was as close to me," sighed the blood mage wistfully. "Don't worry. Hawke will return soon, and then we can all meet at the Hanged Man again for drinks and some of Varric's stories."

Isabela nodded. "She'll be back soon. We should welcome her back properly when she arrives," she agreed.

* * *

><p>Hawke shielded her eyes from the afternoon sun as she approached the Viscount's keep. "It's good to be home," she said as Aveline came up and clapped her on the shoulder.<p>

"You didn't need to pay for them to carry my gear as well, Hawke," grumped the guard captain, jerking her thumb at a pair of struggling dock workers carrying a heavy leather bound chest between them.

"It's alright, Aveline. Think of it as a thank you for your help this past week," laughed Hawke.

"The sentiment is appreciated, though I think you could have saved the bits," sighed Aveline. "Just set it anywhere, men."

The pair of valets dropped the trunk and leaned back, groaning and breathing heavily. "Wot'chu pack in that blighted trunk, mum? Your Orlesian brick collection?" asked one of the bearded men.

"Just my personal effects. Dress armor, ceremonial weaponry, clothing, and the other essentials," she smiled as she walked over. She reached down with one hand and hefted the heavy chest over one shoulder. "Take care, Hawke. I'll see you soon," she said, adjusting the chest for balance.

The Champion smiled and nodded at her hired help. The groaning men stood and stretched a bit, then resumed driving the wooden cart carrying the rest of the luggage. The unhappy-looking mule gave a snort and began pulling the cart.

"Please, be careful of the Mistress's things!" warned Orana from her perch on the cart.

"I'm just glad to _nearly_ be home," groaned the Fereldan wearily. "No more fancy dresses, no more snooty nobles, no more pressing matters that are absolutely dying for my attention."

Orana glanced at her with an eyebrow raised. "Well, for today, anyway," amended Hawke sheepishly.

"Will you be riding, Mistress?" asked the serving girl.

"Go on ahead, Orana. I feel like visiting the market before I return home," replied the Champion, taking a deep breath. Hawke pressed a handful of silver to Orana. "Pay them once they finish unloading, and not before."

The elf girl nodded and the cart creaked and rolled toward its destination. Hawke took a deep breath and walked down the Viscount's Way, enjoying the afternoon sunshine. She hummed a small tune to herself as she browsed the various shops.

"Champion! Oh, Champion!" called a nasal, feminine voice. An older noblewoman with a small entourage of elven serving girls was waving ferociously at her.

Hawke sighed, before fixing a phoney smile on her face. "Lady Janice, how lovely to see you again."

"Champion, it's been far too long. My son asks about you constantly, you simply must spend more time with him," she gushed.

"I've only just returned from representing Kirkwall in the annual Marchers' peace conference in Ostwick," offered the Fereldan, looking frantically about for an escape route.

"Of course, Champion. All of Kirkwall owes you a great debt. Allow me to thank you. My husband, Lord Chirac, will be hosting a banquet dinner for a number of our close, personal friends next week. Do say you'll be there; Jenner will be absolutely beside himself if you do not attend," continued Lady Janice smoothly.

"I..." began the Champion, but Lady Janice pressed in even closer. She smelled of old cheese. Hawke said the first thing that came to mind. "Surely Lord Chirac will allow me to bring an escort."

Lady Janice was taken aback. "Of... of course, Champion. Who would you like to bring? The lovely Guard Captain? The prince of Starkhaven? Perhaps that charming dwarven member of the merchant's guild?" she asked hopefully.

Hawke smiled sweetly as she could. "I'm afraid not, Lady Janice. I believe you are acquainted with my partner, Isabela. She would, of course, be escorting me."

The color drained from Lady Janice's face. "Ah..." she began airily. "The sea captain, if I remember correctly. Business partners, of course. Such ties are important. She is... " Lady Janice looked like she had just bitten into a lemon. "... welcome."

"Thank you, Lady Janice. I'm sure she'll look forward to the banquet as much as I do," said Hawke graciously.

The noblewomen exchanged a few more pleasantries, before Lady Janice awkwardly excused herself. Hawke giggled to herself a bit, and wended her way home. When she reached the entrance to her estate, the Champion found the door left open. She frowned. There was no sign of a struggle, but it was unlike Bodahn or Orana to leave the front door unattended. She cautiously stepped inside.

"Bodahn? Orana? Sandal?" she called, but there was no response. She walked through the foyer, passed by the great room, and headed down the hall toward the kitchen. A rustling sound behind her drew her attention, but when she turned, she saw nothing.

"I must be hearing things. I wonder where everybody is?" wondered the Champion to herself. She stepped inside and had just opened the pantry to look at what they had to eat, when a black hood was yanked over her head. She tried to scream, but the inside of the hood had been soaked with some sort of herbal concoction that took her voice and made the world go wobbly beneath her feet. She staggered back, but her legs felt like they were made of jelly, and she collapsed. The last thing she felt before she slipped out of consciousness was the feeling of strong hands lifting her body from the floor.

* * *

><p>Hawke snapped back to consciousness with a start. Her torso felt like a frost spell had gone awry; all of the heat in her skin had leached out near-instantaneously. Icy tendrils grasped her from her thighs to her neck, each line causing her muscles to painfully contract. She gasped as the shock set in and thrashed with all her might, but it only took scant moments to take stock of her current situation.<p>

She was blindfolded. The gentle pressure of the cloth on her face was tightly bound, but not painfully so. Her wrists were bound together and hung from something over her head, forcing her upright. From the amount of soreness in her shoulders, she deduced she must have been strung up very recently. After the initial shock wore off, she felt the icy water dripping down her body. The cool air felt chill against her naked skin. She could only reach the floor beneath her with the balls of her feet, and she stood precariously in a puddle of cold water, trying to reduce the strain on her shoulders and arms. She breathed in deeply, trying to gather her thoughts. The drugs felt like they were still in her system; the floor gently rose and fell beneath her feet, as if she were standing on a sleeping giant.

A hard leather object jabbed itself against her left breast for a moment, then poked her in the back. She straightened uncomfortably at the pressure. She felt a faint heat from behind; the air near her back and buttocks was warm. Her inner senses told her that someone was standing there.

"You've been gone a long time, Champion. Things have changed while you were away," growled a low, muffled feminine voice, punctuated by another jab in the side with that hard leather object. "It's time you learned your place."

Hawke stiffened. A moment of silence passed, then another, as if her captor was waiting for a response. The Champion gave the only reply she could. She burst into laughter.

She could hear her captor shifting uncomfortably behind her, and it only caused her to giggle even more furiously. Finally, after moments of filling the room with laughter, the giggles subsided and the Champion took a deep breath.

"Isabela, can you let me down now?" she asked with a smile on her face.

"Oh, _balls_. How did you know it was me?" grumbled the corsair. "I didn't touch you or anything!" she exclaimed as she pulled down Hawke's blindfold and undid the leather manacles.

Hawke rubbed her wrists a bit, before wrapping her arms around the dusky pirate. "Aside from keeping me on a ship? Skill with poisons and drugs? Knowing exactly which day I was coming home? Familiarity with my house? And the badly disguised voice?" asked the Champion.

Isabela colored slightly.

"You're wearing my favorite perfume," murmured Hawke, still shivering slightly.

"Balls," the captain cursed again. "I had this whole elaborate setup planned, too," she sniffed, encircling her arms about the Fereldan and spreading her warmth to her lover.

"What sort of plan was it?" asked Hawke, nuzzling at Isabela's earlobe.

"I'd kidnap you, then I'd toy with you a bit, then I'd cast your blindfold off and we'd have wonderful, fantastic sex," grinned the pirate, lowering her hands to Hawke's naked buttocks. "I suppose we can skip to step three," reasoned the corsair. "I do still owe you a _grand_ tour of the ship, after all."

"What makes the tour so grand?" wondered Hawke aloud, as she began undoing the laces of Isabela's corset.

"You'll see. _Intimately_," the pirate grinned wickedly.

"I like what I see so far,"murmured the Champion.

"Oh, and Hawke..." began Isabela, as her lover had started kissing her bare shoulder.

"Mmm-hmm?"

"Don't forget the manacles."

* * *

><p>The morning sun flooded through the windows, illuminating the room with its gentle orange light. The soft, rocking motion of the ship on the water delayed the light from reaching the naked woman on the bed. She stirred, rising from the bunched up sheets and stretched and yawned, smacking her lips. She opened one bleary eye and examined the room. The ship's cabin was in complete disarray. Two chairs were overturned, the pillows were strewn about the room, and the blankets had been flung over the chairs, floor and the heavy chest at the foot of the bed. A number of empty wine bottles littered the floor. Hawke rubbed her neck and looked about for her clothes.<p>

She spotted her tunic on the floor, on the far side of the bed, and crawled across the mattress on all fours. The woman stretched her arm out, trying to reach the tunic, but it was barely out of reach. Hawke leaned forward a bit more, balanced precariously on the edge of the bed, when she heard the door open behind her.

"I thought you'd still be asleep. Finding you naked with your ass in the air is a _much_ more pleasant way to start the morning," laughed Isabela.

"Eep!" cried the surprised Champion, before toppling over onto the floor in a heap. As she righted herself, Isabela sat herself down on the bed, still completely naked. She was always so comfortable with her own body; Hawke had always been impressed with the sense of confidence the pirate exhibited.

The corsair placed a tray laden with a pair of tankards, some grapes, a loaf of bread and some cheese on the bed, and handed a tankard to her lover. Taking the other for herself, she leaned against Hawke and took a sip. "So... how did you enjoy your grand tour?"

"I don't think I'll ever forget all the parts of the ship now," chuckled Hawke. "Not after we christened each of them like that last night."

"I find it to be the best way to remember something," smirked the pirate, taking another sip of ale. "Let's give you a little test. Which part is the forecastle?"

"That's the part where you did the biting," laughed Hawke.

"Correct! What about the galley?" pressed the pirate

"Wasn't that where I got a splinter in my ass?" asked the Fereldan.

"A painful lesson to learn, I'm sure. But also correct. And the captain's cabin?" continued the captain.

Hawke laughed and leaned against the dusky pirate. "I believe that is where we spend most of our time," she said, wrapping one arm around Isabela's waist. They silently enjoyed the other's company for a moment.

"Isabela," began Hawke, breaking the silence.

"Hm?"

"I'm sorry I haven't been able to spend as much time with you as I've wanted. I've missed you," murmured the Fereldan.

"Mm... and how are you planning on making it up to me?" asked the buccaneer as she took a hunk of the bread and cut a portion of the cheese. She broke them in half, and handed a piece to the other woman, hiding her smile.

"I'll buy you the next round at the Hanged Man?" offered Hawke.

Isabela snorted. "Try again, sweet thing."

The Champion tried again. "I brought you a golden sextant from Ostwick."

The pirate smirked a bit. "It's a start."

"I want to spend more time with you," Hawke said finally.

"You're very close, Hawke," coaxed the captain. "So _very_ close!"

"I'm _going_ to spend more time with you," amended the Champion.

Isabela gave Hawke a quick kiss on the cheek. "Naked. You're going to spend more time with me _naked_. I've been without sex for an unacceptable length of time, and it is your responsibility to see that need met."

"I find your terms acceptable," grinned the Fereldan. She gave the Rivaini woman a gentle squeeze.

Isabela looked away for a moment, her expression unreadable. Almost tentatively, she whispered "Hawke I... missed you too. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"What was that?" asked Hawke.

"Nothing," said the pirate quickly.

"It sounded like more than nothing," grinned Hawke, nuzzling at her lover's bare neck and applying some gentle pressure.

"I just said... that I missed you too," gasped Isabela as she leaned back.

"Was that _all_?" murmured Hawke, as she began teasing a dusky earlobe. Another gentle push and Isabela was on her back, squirming slightly under the assault. Hawke gently tweaked Isabela's nipple ring, and smiled as the woman moaned.

Isabela wrapped her sinewy, muscular legs around Hawke's waist and pulled her close. "Really, Hawke. I don't know what I'd do without you," she said softly, looking deep in her lover's shining blue eyes and cupping Hawke's cheek with her hand.

"Probably a lot of drinking and casual sex," smirked Hawke. "So perhaps not so differ-Ow!" yelped the Champion, as Isabela pinched her cheek.

"You goose, I'm being serious for a moment here. You don't have to do it all yourself. I want to help however I can, big or small, if you'll have me. As long as you're _with_ me."

"Oh Isabela... You'll be with me as long as I can have you. And I plan on having you as often as I can," murmured Hawke. "You can start by coming with me to Lady Janice's next week..." she began, before Isabela put a finger to her lips.

"Shut up and kiss me," she commanded. Hawke was only too happy to oblige.

_finis_.

* * *

><p>BONUS:<p>

Aveline looked on with great anticipation. She knew that she could not be too hasty or her actions would spoil the results. She lifted her hand and reached carefully for the teapot, when she heard a knock at her door. The red-headed firebrand looked up and smiled, waving her visitor inside.

"Merrill, it's good to see you. Please, come join me," she invited as she began pouring the hot tea into a porcelain cup.

"Oh, thank you so much. Welcome back!" gushed the young mage. "How was your trip to Ostwick?"

"There were some long talks, but nothing too exciting. The rest of the Marches is eyeing Kirkwall carefully, but we can all hope that it will turn out better," nodded the captain, pouring a second cup for the elf.

Merrill took a sip and smiled. "This is delicious. It reminds me a bit of the wild herbs I used to gather in the Brecilian forest," she murmured before taking another drink.

"It's a Fereldan blend. But you didn't come here just for the tea. What can I do for you?" inquired the guardswoman.

"Right! I came here to invite you and Donnic to a dinner party," announced the mage happily. "Isabela and I wanted to welcome you and Hawke back to Kirkwall, so she's preparing a meal for all of us tomorrow night on her ship."

Aveline raised an eyebrow as she sipped her tea. "Why didn't Isabela come and invite me herself?" she asked.

"She said something about properly preparing Hawke for supper, and asked me to invite you instead," answered the elf cheerfully.

"Wait a moment. Isabela _cooks_?" asked the Fereldan woman incredulously.

"I _know_, isn't it wild? I never imagined that she was so knowledgeable about cooking. I was even more surprised than when I learned that Hawke could cook too!" agreed the willowy woman.

"I don't believe it," said Aveline.

"I was so surprised to see it myself. I thought that she might have learned a little here and there, but she took me to an island off the Wounded Coast a few days ago, and showed me something called... pearl diving," began the little mage.

Aveline looked sharply at Merrill, but the young elf's innocent smile never faltered.

"Well, she showed me how to eat these things called oysters, and prepared a large one just for me. It was a little gooey, but quite delicious after I got my tongue around it," Merrill said. "But what was really surprising was when we went to the market yesterday to buy ingredients for the meal. A few vegetables here, some fruits there, and then we went to the butcher's row. Isabela really knows all about meat!"

Aveline snorted, but kept her composure. "A meat expert, is she?"

"Oh yes," answered Merrill. "She was explaining about the color, and the texture, and all these little details. We went from stall to stall but she turned them all down-"

"I find _that_ hard to believe," muttered Aveline under her breath, before taking another sip of tea.

The mage blithely continued, "She finally decided on buying something fresh. She disappeared for a moment while I purchased some fresh eggs, and returned with the biggest cock I'd ever seen!"

Aveline spat out her tea and coughed uncontrollably. She pounded her armored chest with her chest, before finally managing to croak out, "_What_?"

"I _know_! It was still quite alive, and I think it was just excited to see her so it puffed itself up as large as it could be. I never knew you could just buy such things in the market! It was _massive_; it had to be at least eighteen inches from tip to tail. She could barely get her hands around it. The poor thing had only one eye; I think it must have gotten into a fight when it was younger," continued the elf.

Aveline quickly poured herself another cup of tea and began drinking it as quickly as she could.

"I was a little intimidated by the thought of eating it, but Isabela assured me that it would be delicious. She said something about getting it home, cleaning it properly, and rubbing it down. Rubbing it is apparently the most important part," Merrill continued, ignoring Aveline's incredulous look. "Are you and Donnic free for dinner tonight? Please say you'll come. Isabela and Hawke will both be there, and I'm bringing some special roast nuts to go with the meat!" entreated the young mage.

Aveline opened and closed her mouth several times, but no words came out.

"Please?" coaxed the elf, putting on her brightest smile.

The captain sighed and nodded while pinching the bridge of her nose and squinting.

"Isabela, this chicken is absolutely delightful. What _is_ your secret?" asked Donnic excitedly as he cut another piece from the platter.

"It's a special spice rub that I learned to make in Antiva," laughed the pirate. "Do you like it? I could furnish you with the recipe if you or lady man hands is interested."

"Is there something wrong, Aveline? You look a bit flushed, and you've barely touched your meal," asked Hawke, the concern evident in her voice.

"It's nothing, Hawke," mumbled Aveline.

"More for me then," laughed Donnic as he reached for another helping.

_Author's Note: It's taken longer than I would have liked to write this story, but it's finally done with. I meant to have it finished sooner, but Mark of the Assassin had totally sidetracked me. There's just so much wonderful Isabela in it, and I found her to be absolutely charming in it. If you haven't had a chance to play it and enjoy the pairing, Mark of the Assassin is wonderful._

_Shout outs to all of my lovely pre-readers. Thanks so much for your wonderful feedback, criticism and suggestions. If you are interested in prereading, please drop me a line at hoorayforicecream(at)yahoo(dot)com._

_A lovely shout out to my artists. Ixia (tutchangers[dot]deviantart[dot]com) has posted an absolutely fantastic art for Revenge, and wikdvalkyrie (wikdvalkyrie[dot]deviantart[dot]com) also posted a gorgeous painting of Isabela a while back. If you haven't wended your way to their deviant art sites yet, I encourage you to visit._

_I do have more stories lined up for the writing. The next one I have in mind will likely be a little more action-oriented. Also I have another question for you readers out there. I've written a few other Dragon Age related things such as banter, limericks, etc. Would you be interested in reading them? Would you prefer I publish them as chapters in Snacking, or a separate story? Drop me a line and let me know. Cheers._


	12. Eating Lionfish, part 1

Eating Lionfish, part 1

by hoorayforicecream

_Foreword: Note, there is a scene of implied brutality and violence, especially towards children. Those who cannot stomach the implication would do best not to read this._

The woman woke to the sound of water dripping. She was beautiful, clad only in a white, silken shift. Her hair was dark and glossy, but unruly and mussed from sleep. Her eyes were a deep blue, but seemed to have difficulty focusing. She shook her head, trying to dislodge the hazy feeling that had parked itself firmly between her temples. Her eyes ached, and she squinted in the dim light. She pushed the sheets aside from the bed and tried to remember where she was. Spots of color bloomed in her field of vision, and she fumbled for her clothing. Her skin felt damp, and she shivered in the chilly air.

"My lord, where are you?" she called out. "What's going on?"

"I had such high hopes for this one," a manly baritone voice said from somewhere in the large domed room."A pity. She was so close, but just lacks that special spark. She remains a pale imitation of the real thing."

A rasping, deep voice answered. "It is no matter. The preparations are complete. A gift for you, ser."

The woman rubbed her eyes, willing the pounding behind her eyes to go away. She heard the sound of jingling, or clinking. A gold chain on leather. She had heard the sound many times before.

The rasping voice continued, "The use is simple enough. It will activate them all upon your death. If you wish to detonate one specifically, choose one and break it."

"Excellent. She will be mine soon," said the baritone.

The woman finally looked up, blinking the spots away. In the dim light, she made out a massive painting framed on the wall. The painting was a portrait of a nude, pale-skinned Champion of Kirkwall with piercing blue eyes, soft, shaggy black hair, and a fabulous figure. The painted Champion was stretched out, lounging on a divan in front of a sparkling fountain of water in a picturesque woodland setting. The woman's eyes widened. The mural was not alone - it was surrounded by smaller paintings, of the Champion in different poses. In evening gowns, in battle, reclining at table, walking down stairs, the paintings covered the walls in one large blur. The woman's mouth opened to scream, but her vocal chords seized up and the only sound was a hoarse whisper.

"And my payment?" rasped the other voice.

"This one should serve until it truly begins," laughed the baritone.

The woman tried to scramble, to escape, but large, strong hands grasped her body and dragged her from the bed. The raspy voice laughed, a cold, cruel sound. Pain exploded in white hot shards along her back as she finally found her voice and began to scream.

* * *

><p>"Oh, thank you, Champion! Thank you!" exclaimed a joyful mother as she embraced her young son. The Champion smiled, as the other children reunited with their tearful parents, commoner and nobles alike, in the main hall of the Viscount's Keep.<p>

"I'm just glad that we were able to bring them back safely. Without my companions, I'd never have found the right ship before it sailed," mused the Champion. Hawke stepped back next to Aveline, watching the happy families.

"How on earth did you convince Isabela to help find the right boat? I always thought she hated children," whispered Aveline.

"Ship, Aveline," corrected Hawke. "And she doesn't, no thanks to your antics a few months back. Quite a few of the little girls were thrilled that they had been saved by 'Princess Isabel'. Let's just say that I owe her one, and that she intends to collect very soon."

"I'd pity you, but I think some of her depravity's started to rub off on you. Nonetheless, a job well done. Another batch of slavers that the city won't need to deal with, and another pouch of coin you can pick up once the paperwork's been done," sighed Aveline. "Take care, Hawke, and tell the whore I said hello."

The Champion turned to leave, before a shadowy shape appeared to her left. She turned quickly to face the figure, a feeling of vague uneasiness causing the hairs on the back of her neck to stand on end. The shadow belonged to a nobleman she had seen around Hightown, a wealthy Orlesian lord from near Nevarra.

"Well met, Champion," the nobleman greeted, grinning with even, white teeth. He was a handsome man, built with a barrel chest, and an immaculately trimmed black beard. His green eyes sparkled with intelligence, and his brightly colored green doublet was covered with layer upon layer of intricate embroidery and lace. Golden earrings dangled from his ears, and he wore a large golden medallion decorated with differently-colored jewels each the size of Hawke's thumbnail. One of the jewels was notably missing from its setting. His shoulder-length black hair had been pulled back in a ponytail bound in a lace ribbon, and he stood with the easy stance of a man used to getting what he wanted. He shifted slightly, placing one hand on the jewel-encrusted pommel of the thin, straight sword he wore at his waist. He looked at her, trying to gauge her reaction.

"Well met, Lord du Gaudet," replied Hawke, inclining her head slightly.

"It was a wonderful thing you did for these families. The city of Kirkwall is once again in your debt," he said grandly. "I would be honored if you would attend my autumn ball a week hence. It will be held in my manor home, just north of the city. All of the finest families will be attending, and you would make me the envy of Kirkwall by escorting me."

Hawke took a deep breath and barely managed to fight back the desire to roll her eyes. "I'm sorry, Lord du Gaudet, but I am afraid I am otherwise occupied that night," she said simply, shrugging her shoulders. His smile never faltered, but a brief emotion flashed across his eyes... it looked like irritation. But it vanished just as quickly as it arrived, and the smarmy, inviting glint returned to those hard, emerald irises.

"Forgive me, Champion. I did not mean to overstep my bounds. I just wish to show you the gratitude of the city... and my family," he soothed, bowing with a flourish and sweeping his magnificent feathered cap off of his head for emphasis.

"I'm very thankful. Perhaps another time," nodded the Champion, waving goodbye. "Farewell, Lord du Gaudet."

"Until we meet again, my lovely Champion," smiled the nobleman as the Fereldan woman departed.

* * *

><p>Hawke hurried home, offering curt pleasantries and silent waves to the nobles and guardsmen who bade her goodbye as she strolled down the Viscount's Way. She pushed her door open and entered her home, blinking as her eyes adjusted from the bright sunshine outside. She hung her overcoat on a peg in the foyer, then moved on into the living room. Stretching, she gave a contented sigh before she felt hands on her hips. They pressed with gentle pressure, and Hawke felt a warm breeze tickle her right earlobe. She smiled and placed one hand on the warm fingers pressing themselves to her side.<p>

"Bodahn never welcomes me back home like this," murmured the Champion, as Isabela began nuzzling at her neck.

"Bodahn is missing out," breathed her lover, gently pressing herself against Hawke's back. The warmth spread through the Fereldan woman palpably, relaxing her tension away. The pressure was insistent, and Hawke began taking small steps toward the stairwell.

Hawke sniffed the air, detecting a curious scent. "Is that... mulled wine I smell?" she asked.

"Perhaps it is," said the pirate, while continuing to nuzzle. She lowered her hands to Hawke's rear and gently squeezed, while continuing to push the Champion up the stairs.

Hawke smiled and leaned back for a moment, reaching behind her and placing a reassuring hand on the corsair's wrist. "What do you want, Isabela? Shall I fetch the leash and bananas?" she smiled as she reached for the door to her bedroom.

Isabela paused her ministrations for a moment and chuckled, before resuming. "Is it that obvious?"

"I _know_ you. Is it to be the riding crop then?" giggled Hawke.

"I do love how your mind works. But no, you're distracting me from my true purpose while I'm supposed to be distracting _you_," muttered the pirate, as she pushed her lover through the door and backward onto the bed.

"You're doing a pretty decent job of it," nodded the Champion, pulling off her tunic and casting it aside. The pirate sauntered forward, sashaying her hips from side to side as she unlaced her corset and straddled her lover on the bed.

"That's the last I want to hear out of you for at least an hour," Isabela commanded.

* * *

><p>Isabela propped her cheek on one palm as she lay on her side, a lazy, firm smile affixed to her face. She brushed her disheveled hair back, and breathed deeply. The air in the room felt cool against her sweat-slicked skin, a tickling reminder of the strenuous activity that had just taken place. The grinning captain ran her fingers up and down the other woman's arm.<p>

The slender figure of her lover lay before her, gasping for breath and still unable to form complete words. Isabela smiled a bit wider and entwined their fingers.

"That... that was... whew..." gasped Hawke, finally getting her breathing under control.

"I thought you'd like it," grinned the captain. "I just didn't know how much."

"I can't tell you how much I needed that, Isabela. Thank you," breathed the Champion, snuggling closer.

"Rough day, sweet thing?" asked the corsair.

"Just a lot of bottled stress. Nobles who believe the world revolves around them, merchants with business propositions, and people who cannot live without my help," sighed Hawke, squeezing Isabela's hand gently.

Isabela's smile slipped from her face at her bedmate's last comment. "People asking for help _are_ bothersome, aren't they?" she mused quietly.

"Oh, you know I don't mean that. I just do what I can, and wish they wouldn't assume that their concern is the earth-shattering matter I absolutely must make my priority," sighed Hawke.

"Even your friends?" murmured the pirate.

"Of course not. My friends have a special place in my heart," replied the Champion, closing her eyes.

"I'd like to think I have a slightly more special place than that," smirked Isabela.

"Out with it, Isabela," sighed Hawke. "You know that I'd turn the city upside down for you. Why are you buttering me up? What did you need?"

"While the idea of you slathered in butter is incredibly appealing, I need you for something else," the dusky rogue replied. "A friend of mine has gone missing, and I hoped you could help me find her."

"Of course, why would you be so careful about asking me for help with something like this?" asked the Champion

Isabela took a moment to carefully choose her words. "She's a prostitute."

"Is she a friend?" began Hawke warily, letting go of her lover's hand. "Or a... _friend_?"

The pirate laughed merrily. "Hawke, you may have noticed that you're the only _friend_ I've spent any quality time with in ages. She and I are friends that met for different reasons than you might think."

Hawke thrust out her lower lip, pouting. "If it wasn't sex, then what was it?" she asked grumpily.

The dusky rogue actually blushed before continuing. "Jillian is... how do I put this? She came to me to ask what _you_ were like."

"Me? What would a courtesan wish to know about _me_?" asked the Champion.

"Sweet thing, you have to realize how much of a prize you are," smiled Isabela, pressing her palm to her bedmate's cheek. Noting Hawke's confused look, she continued, "You're absolutely stunning. Possessed of beauty that inspires people. Strength that is the envy of nations. You're wealthy. You're successful. Everyone in Kirkwall looks to you for guidance."

"Yes, we've established how much fun _that_ is," muttered the Champion, crossing her arms beneath her breasts and leaning back.

"The legend, the very _idea_ of the Champion is immensely appealing," continued the buccaneer, turning Hawke's face toward hers. Her voice dropped low and throaty. "On _many_ levels."

Hawke's eyes met the dusky pirate's. They widened as Hawke came to a realization. "You don't mean..."

Isabela grinned wickedly. "I _do_ mean. I am but one of _many_ people in Kirkwall who wish you were in their beds," she said. "I just happen to be the lucky one who _gets_ you," she said.

"I still don't understand, what does a friendly prostitute have to do with me?" asked Hawke, blushing.

"Jillian happens to be blessed with a marvelously slender figure, smooth and silky skin, piercing blue eyes, and wonderfully black hair," answered Isabela.

Hawke's eyes widened even further. "You mean she..."

"Not just her, sweet thing. Down at the Rose, they have a veritable _bevy_ of dark haired, blue-eyed, creamy skinned ladies in waiting. And they're all quite popular, too." The pirate went on, "Jillian wished to know more about the real Champion of Kirkwall, and so she asked for my help. She wanted to give a more authentic performance."

"You taught her to be like me?" asked Hawke, incredulous. She narrowed her eyes. "Even..."

"Not _exactly_ like you. But I helped fill in some of the details," said the pirate.

Her lover looked at her sharply.

"What? You can't expect to do _that_ to a girl night after night and not expect her to brag at least a _little_ bit," Isabela said defensively. She sighed, and spoke in a very quiet voice. "This isn't how I envisioned this conversation going. Hawke, some of the other girls at the Rose have asked me for help. Jillian's disappeared, and she's the third girl who's vanished in the past month. They're frightened, Hawke. I need you with me on this. Will you help?"

"Of course I'll help. What's the plan?" asked the Champion. "There is a plan, right?"

"We can start by asking the girls," began the captain. "They must have seen something. They should all be at the Rose tonight."

"That sounds like a fine beginning," nodded Hawke. "We'll go in the evening, just after sunset. We've a few hours till then."

The dusky pirate smiled at her lover with a half-lidded gaze. She looked exceptionally smug.

Hawke sighed and shook her head, but she could not hide the grin on her face. "I know that look. You get the riding crop, and I'll get the butter?"

* * *

><p>The Blooming Rose was bustling with activity when Hawke arrived with Isabela. Each table at the brothel's tavern was occupied by laughing patrons and smiling courtesans. The Champion followed her partner silently, as the pirate sauntered through the revelry. Hawke strode confidently, but the feeling of uneasiness crept silently up her spine as she walked toward the bar. She felt a bit jealous of how easy-going Isabela was about all of this; the circumstances that surrounded their visit to the Rose made her feel a little intimidated. The captain leading the way, on the other hand, was comfortable as a duck in water. She was positively radiant, waving and smiling at friendly faces in the crowd. Hawke's breath caught and her cheeks colored at the sight. The corsair made her way to the bar, where Madame Lusine beckoned them closer with a broad smile.<p>

"Captain Isabela, my dear, where _have_ you been? All of the girls and boys have been asking for you. You only come by to drink these days. Surely your new lover can't be _that_ good!" greeted the madam.

"Oh no, not just good. _Better_," laughed Isabela, waggling two fingers at the bartender. The mustachioed man nodded and reached below the bar, withdrawing a dark bottle of unknown vintage.

Hawke craned her neck to try to hear over the din of the patrons.

"So, are you not here to partake of our services? You're still paid up through the end of the year. Why don't you bring her with you?" suggested Madame Lusine.

"While the idea does have merit, I'm just here to speak with the girls tonight," replied the grinning pirate.

The Champion was so focused on trying to hear that she didn't notice the movement beside her. A fat-fingered hand wrapped itself around her wrist and pulled her roughly to one side. She looked at the owner. A bleary-eyed heavy-set man dressed in orange silks and gold jewelry towered over her, a leer firmly affixed to his face. His sausage-sized fingers were covered in bejeweled rings, and his thick, gray beard reached his chest. He exhaled, and the stench of sour gin on his breath was so strong Hawke had to fight to keep from gagging.

"Alright, I'm choosing you tonight my pretty Champion," he laughed, pulling her toward him with a grin. She tried to shake him off, but the man's grip was like a gold-colored vise.

"Dear Maker, your breath could curdle water!" gasped Hawke, disgusted. She pulled at his hold unsuccessfully, and looked about frantically for some help. The Fereldan caught Isabela's eyes, and the pirate turned quickly toward her. "What have they been _feeding_ you!"

"Yes, yes, you're going to be a good Champion for me tonight," the man cackled, hauling her toward the stairs. She struggled to break free, but his iron grip held her firm. She cast about, looking for some way to get him to release her without having to hurt him.

"Hold it right there!" called Isabela's voice. It was strong and firm, and cut through the chatter of the tavern like her blade through butter. Even her captor stopped to look. All eyes were on the pirate, and she relished the attention. Her hips swayed gently as she swaggered to the pair, and her lips broke into a mischievous grin as she ran a gentle hand up Hawke's neck to her cheek. "This one is mine tonight," she declared.

"Hey now, I saw her first!" rumbled the burly man.

"I was getting drinks," replied the corsair blandly, raising two crystal goblets in one hand and a bottle in the other. "Besides, you don't want this one. She's got a mouth on her, and not in the good way," she continued.

"I do _not_!" exclaimed Hawke. "Just get me out of this now!"

"See what I mean? Always with the _demanding_, and the _nagging_," soothed the pirate. Some of the crowd chuckled. "On top of it all, I think she's touched in the head. Really believes she's the Champion of Kirkwall," added the dusky rogue.

"I _am_ the Champion of Kirkwall! Let go of me!" grated the Champion. Even the brawny captor began to laugh.

"Thankfully," continued the captain, "I have other uses for that sharp tongue of hers. So let me return to my entertainments for the night, hmm? I've booked the dragon room, and I'd hate to see it go to waste."

The man loosened his hand, and Hawke quickly freed herself. She backed away from him, only to bump into Isabela's soft front.

"If you want a good Champion experience, I'd suggest Mirabelle. She'll Champion your cause all night long," winked the captain, grabbing the sputtering Hawke by the belt buckle and pulling her up the stairs.

* * *

><p>"<em>Nagging<em>? Really, Isabela?" complained Hawke, crossing her arms under her breasts. She pouted, thrusting her lip out again.

"Come on Hawke, it was just to get that drunkard to let go without having to explain to the ball-breaker of a guard captain why we went ahead and cut up _another_ nobleman," soothed the pirate.

"She was a bit angry at the last one we beat up, wasn't she?" sighed the Champion, as she sat down on the canopied bed.

"It was his own fault. He shouldn't have been trying to sell his servants into slavery," reasoned the pirate as she threw herself onto the bed next to her lover. She rolled onto her belly and began playing with the quilt stitching. "I've asked for Lianne, she was always the chattiest one. She's got a mouth on her worse than any sailor I know, but her information's always good. She'll be here soon," she added, picking at a woolen rose.

"Really? How bad could she be?" mused the Champion. Her only reply was a knowing smile.

Hawke leaned back on her elbows and looked over at the corsair, who remained engrossed in the stitchwork of the quilt. From time to time, Isabela would rub her shoulder, then resume playing with the patterns. Hawke smiled to herself and straddled Isabela's lower back.

"What are you-" began Isabela, starting to turn over, but Hawke placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Oh. Oooh. _Oooooooh_," she moaned as Hawke began massaging her shoulders and back with strong fingers. The Champion pressed and rubbed the knots in her lover's muscles, as Isabela relaxed and became more and more pliant. The pirate folded her arms and lay her chin on them, a warm smile firmly affixed to her face.

As Hawke kneaded her back, the captain would occasionally give a low, throaty moan, encouraging the Champion to press further. Hawke worked her way across the pirate's shoulders, then down between her shoulder blades, releasing the knots she found on her way down.

"Oh, I had not realized that you already had someone, Captain Isabela," a woman's voice called from the door. Two pairs of eyes looked to the doorway, where a slender girl stood. Her shaggy black hair was dull, rather than glossy, and her blonde roots had started to grow out, but her dark blue eyes sparkled and she had a strong look on her angular face. She wore silks, the same sort that Hawke liked to wear at home, but with the Blooming Rose emblem on her breast, and the front was cut wide to emphasize her bosom. The skirt was cut higher, with a slit up one side to emphasize her legs. She narrowed her eyes, looking Hawke up and down as if sizing her up, and put her hands on her hips.

Hawke stopped her massaging and stood, eliciting a small whimper from Isabela. The captain stretched like a cat before rising to a sitting position on the bed.

"Are you double booking tonight, Captain? Madame Lusine didn't say that the new girl would be here as well," Lianne said, still eyeing Hawke critically. "She's a little wide in the ass and her breasts aren't big enough, but the hair and eye color's right. How's her attitude?"

"I beg your pardon? I didn't come here to be examined like a horse at auction!" exclaimed Hawke indignantly.

"Oh, that's good. The real Champion's got a bit of a stick up her ass too, this one'll do fine. How's she on her back?" continued Lianne.

"Oh, she is _fantastic_," giggled Isabela, watching Hawke redden. "And I think her tits and ass are perfectly sized. Her tunic just isn't very flattering, that's all."

"I see what you mean," nodded the harlot, looking the Fereldan up and down appreciatively. "Is this outfit home-made? Why isn't she wearing the Rose's costume? No matter, she'll get one soon enough. So are we getting on with it, Captain? What do you fancy tonight? One on each side? Nevarran Cowgirl? Orlesian Bakeshop?" asked Lianne as she stripped her tunic off, revealing her bare breasts.

"Just some information, Lianne. You won't be getting any rug burns from me tonight," replied Isabela.

"Just information? I heard you had finally come back and asked for me by name. You'd always treated me kindly before," the whore said, almost wistfully. "I was hoping you'd bend me over and have me eat the honeyed walnuts tonight."

"We just need information," said Hawke a little tightly, her cheeks blooming with color.

"We?" asked Lianne, raising an eyebrow. She looked at Isabela, confused.

Isabela's grin never left her face. She nodded briefly, glancing at Hawke.

"We," declared Hawke, planting one fist on her hip.

Lianne's eyes widened, and she stumbled back, falling into a plush chair. "Andraste's flaming pubic hairs, I'm sorry Champion! I misspoke, please don't tell Madame Lusine!" she blurted, beginning to cry.

Hawke softened and looked at Isabela.

"You do have that effect on people sometimes," quipped the captain, winking. "Relax, Lianne. We won't tell anyone."

Lianne continued to ramble, "I didn't mean it... I mean I had heard rumors that Captain Isabela had taken up fingering the Champion's giblets, but nobody really quite believed it, you know? There were also rumors that the Champion had been stuffing the corn into the captain of the guard, or flogging the pink pony with one of a dozen noblemen, or that she was even a mage on the run from the Templars. You just listen to the rumors, you don't believe them, right?"

"I've heard that she does this trick with her tongue you wouldn't believe," smirked the sea captain.

"As fascinating as my love life is for everyone to speculate over, there is another matter at hand. Jillian is missing. What do you know about her?" asked Hawke, closing her eyes and pinching the bridge of her nose.

Lianne took a few deep breaths before composing herself. Hawke retrieved the sniffling woman's tunic and handed it to her. She quickly covered herself, shivering slightly, before beginning.

"Jillian was more popular than a one-legged whore that spat perfume out of her peach pit. She almost always had a queue of clients waiting for her every night. Her 'Champion' act brought the nobles' weapons to bear better than the actual Champion," began Lianne.

Hawke exhaled sharply.

"Make no mistake, Champion. What I mean is that she's playing the romantic fantasy of you. The sort of elaborate character you'd see in a story, or those pulpy serial stories like 'Hard in Hightown'. She's strong-willed, but vulnerable. She's courageous, but demure. And most important, she knows when the clients wish her to be dominant or submissive. She could make them want to bend her over and stuff her like a Feastday turkey, or lick her toes and beg for a spanking," the whore continued. "The nobles, the men especially, love it when their Champion acts tough until they start brandishing their royal scepters."

Isabela burst into laughter. "They don't know you at all, do they?" she giggled.

"Shush, you," grinned Hawke. "So what happened to her before she disappeared? Was there anything out of the ordinary?"

"She was always the most popular. So much so that the other girls started getting jealous. I noticed that she started wearing more jewelry. Golden earrings here, a bracelet there, a shiny necklace with jewels. I thought that she was working on the side, maybe she had some rich patron filling her flesh purse with shinies," answered Lianne. She thought for a moment. "There are three clients whom she made the four-armed abomination with most regularly. Compte Mont-Renaud, Comptesse La Croix, and Lord du Gaudet."

"Did you just say Lord du Gaudet?" asked Hawke, putting hand to chin.

"Something the matter, sweet thing?" Isabela inquired.

"He tried to invite me earlier today to a ball he was hosting next week. He was very insistent," answered the Champion. "I didn't pay it much heed at the time, but it might be important. Lianne, did you confront her about the jewelry?"

The whore nodded and finished dressing. As she draped her tunic across her chest, she began, "I asked, but the bitch refused to tell me. Madame Lusine frowns on us moonlighting apart from our time here at the Rose. I got suspicious, so I followed her one morning, after we both got off shift. She didn't go home... she met with a cloaked stranger who looked very familiar with her. He was all touching her, rubbing her shoulder, things like that. She went with him, and they went into Darktown. I tried to follow them, but I lost my nerve. That's all I know."

Hawke shared a glance with Isabela before saying, "We should probably go look for any signs of her in Darktown, then. Thanks for your help, Lianne."

"Are you sure you don't wish to try a Nevarran Cowgirl, Champion? I'm... interested in seeing if those _other_ rumors are true," asked Lianne.

"Other rumors?" asked Hawke, raising an eyebrow at the dusky rogue.

"Oh, they _are_," laughed Isabela from the bed. "Especially the one about the tongue."

"No thank you, Lianne. We'll see ourselves out," replied the Champion, raising her hands.

"Pity," Lianne sighed. "Now you've got me curious."

As Lianne gathered herself and left the room, Hawke reached her hand out. Isabela took it and Hawke helped the pirate to her feet. "So," Hawke began, "We should probably bring in a few others for this."

The captain held the door open for her lover, and said "I'm guessing you want to bring Messere Man-chin along."

"It is a missing person. Aveline will want to know," nodded Hawke, as they walked down the steps. "And one more, I think."

Isabela glanced at her and sighed. "Does it have to be _him_? Can't we bring Kitten or Varric along instead?" she asked.

"Nobody knows Darktown better than he does, and the patients at his clinic may have seen something. A bejeweled woman and a cloaked man are probably fairly memorable," replied Hawke.

"I know, I just... " the pirate sighed in frustration. "Never mind. You're right. We need to find Jillian."

Hawke took Isabela's hand in hers and gave a gentle squeeze. "Come on. It's too late to get the others tonight. Let's get some rest and start early tomorrow morning."

"I'm all for starting early, sweet thing, but tonight we're going back to your place and you are finishing what you started before Lianne arrived," smirked the captain, pulling Hawke toward the doorway.

"Whatever my lady desires," Hawke replied grandly.

* * *

><p>"Remind me again why I am helping the whore look for other whores in the sewers?" grumbled Aveline as they walked through the dimly lit corridors of Darktown toward the clinic. "Will she be rejoining the whore hive? Perhaps assume her rightful place as queen? Lead the other whores into a golden age of enlightenment and itching?"<p>

"Aww, did someone fall into the chamber pot again this morning while still half-asleep?" cooed the pirate.

"You do seem particularly sharp-tongued this morning, Aveline," added Hawke. "I hadn't expected the sniping to begin until after we arrived at the clinic."

"I... it's nothing, Hawke," the armored woman answered, looking away.

"What's nothing?" asked a male voice. Anders stood in the doorway of his clinic, hefting his staff in the sling on his back. "Hawke, Aveline, Isabela," he acknowledged each of the women with a nod of the head.

"Never you mind. We're here because Hawke's investigating some missing women from Hightown," announced Aveline.

"And you think they've come down here? Who are they?" asked the mage, scratching at his stubble.

"We're looking for prostitutes from the Blooming Rose. The most recent victim was last seen meeting with a cloaked stranger, and was tailed into Darktown," explained the Champion.

"That sounds familiar. I had heard rumors of well-dressed women coming down to Darktown - they're a rarity down here, after all. I hadn't looked for myself, but they were spotted near the sewers in lower Darktown, south of Carta territory," Anders said. "I remembered I took care to avoid the area. No point in inviting more scrutiny down here than necessary, right?"

"Come on, Hawke. Let's go," said the pirate shortly, hooking her arm around Hawke's and pulling her away from the mage.

Anders watched as the two walked on ahead, before looking at Aveline. "Well that was rude," he said.

Aveline sniffed. "Calling her an ungrateful, undeserving whore in front of Hawke that last time hasn't exactly endeared you to her," she said as she moved to follow.

"But you call her an ungrateful whore all the time!" argued Anders, huffing to catch up with her. "And how did you know I called her that? Did Hawke tell you?"

"No, Hawke didn't tell me. She did," sighed Aveline.

"But I thought you two couldn't stand each other!" Anders exclaimed.

The warrior did not reply but merely kept pace and glanced carefully from side to side, mindful of the side tunnels.

"I don't understand what the big deal is. Isabela's like a side dish, she just comes with a meal. You know that," said Anders.

"Perhaps Hawke might disagree," replied Aveline evenly. "They've always been practically inseparable."

"When Isabela's actually staying around, perhaps. And look where it's gotten Hawke. Attacked by Raiders, buried in a cave-in, in a duel with the Arishok, in conflict with the Imperium and the Qunari... Hawke deserves better," he went on.

Aveline scowled, but kept her silence.

"I'm only telling the truth, you know. She'll eventually get tired of Hawke and move on, or she'll just leave like she did years ago," he continued.

"And you think that this is a good thing?" asked the redhead. "If she were to leave again, Hawke would be devastated."

"For a time, perhaps. But Hawke's tough. With the right person to comfort her, she'd recover. Someone to show her real love and devotion," he mused.

The guard captain stopped abruptly. Anders nearly bumped into her armored frame as she turned to face him.

"Meaning you?" asked Aveline, folding her arms and raising an eyebrow.

"I... I just... well, that's up to Hawke to decide, isn't it? Surely she'll see that I've always been there for her," said Anders.

The armored guardswoman gave an exasperated sigh and grabbed Anders by the collar. She yanked his face to hers, and glared directly at him. "I don't think you understand, Anders. You like these grand romantic gestures, but you miss what is right in front of your own eyes. When Leandra died, did you go and comfort Hawke?"

"I... I didn't want to intrude... It was very a personal matter, I wanted to find the right time-" he began.

"Isabela did. I know, because she asked for my advice before going," replied Aveline evenly. "Did you ever ask Isabela why she left?"

"Wasn't it obvious? She was just scared of being tied down. I bet the thought of staying with someone as long as she had scared her right into the nearest brothel," he snapped.

"She _left_ because she feared that Castillon would kill Hawke after she gave the relic to the Qunari. Many of her old friends had all been killed, and she feared Hawke was next," continued Aveline. "Did you know _why_ they got buried in that mountainside?"

"Chasing some stupid treasure, no doubt," sniffed Anders.

"She planned the entire excursion for Hawke. The whore planned the entire thing because she was afraid Hawke was burning herself out with her Champion duties. What have you done to help lighten that burden?" asked the guard captain.

"I've... the plight of mages has occupied my time. It is larger than just one person. You can't just expect-" stuttered the mage.

"Yes, yes, the plight of mages. We know," sighed Aveline, releasing him. She furrowed her brow, and closed her eyes."But do you really think that you can wholly focus on both Hawke and the mage issues? Do you really think there's any sort of future in this for Hawke?"

"I..." began the mage, but he trailed off. He looked at her helplessly.

"She's already told me about their plans to sail the world together, after Hawke agreed to join her on her ship," said Aveline flatly.

"Hawke agreed... to what?" asked Anders, seemingly dazed. "How do you know all this? I've heard you speak to Isabela, you can't stand her!"

"If you don't even understand that, you'll never know why Hawke chose Isabela over you," she said with finality. She brushed by him, and resumed walking.

Anders stood for a moment and watched her form grow distant, concern etched on his face. He felt a familiar itch in the back of his head. He tried to ignore it.

"Have I really been so blind?" he whispered to himself.

THIS IS A DISTRACTION.

The itch grew stronger, and spread down his neck and across his back like a warm breeze.

"But... how could I have missed these things?" he asked.

THEY DID NOT MATTER. ONLY THE CAUSE MATTERS.

Each thought was punctuated by a small burst of blue light in front of his eyes.

"She understands our plight though! She helped me with my manifesto!" he argued.

SHE WILL NEVER TRULY UNDERSTAND US. SHE WILL NEVER UNDERSTAND THE CAUSE. ONLY THE CAUSE MATTERS.

The bursts of light helped bring the world into better focus, throwing the grimy surroundings into sharp relief.

"But..." he stammered.

WE KNEW THERE WOULD BE SACRIFICES. WE MUST NOT WAVER. ONLY THE CAUSE MATTERS.

The anxiety slowly drained from his body, and he exhaled. He sighed and slumped his shoulders. The feeling of peace washed over him, and the world felt like it was in harmony again. A tickle went up his spine, the same feeling whenever Justice recognized something he didn't.

LOOK.

Anders looked at his feet. His right shoe was stained with some sort of white powder. He touched it with two fingers and examined them. The powder was actually made up of tiny crystals. He rubbed the crystals between his thumb and index finger, remembering the passages in the Qunari texts he had managed to cobble together. He couldn't quite remember what it was, but something clicked in the back of his mind.

THIS MAY BE USEFUL TO THE CAUSE.

The tickle in the back of his mind flexed, and dispersed. Anders blinked.

"Anders, we've found something. Come on," commanded Aveline from far ahead. Anders, jolted out of his reverie, wiped his hands on his pants and hurried to catch up. As he rounded the corner, he saw the pirate squatting on her heels, examining several large rotted planks lashed together and leaning against the wall. The Champion stood a short distance back, looking over Isabela's shoulder carefully, while Aveline stood with shield drawn, vigilant for enemies.

"Is it very complicated?" asked Hawke.

"Just give me a moment. You're such a slave driver," she said with a smirk, as she slid a long, thin blade from her boot. She flicked the blade almost imperceptibly near the doorway once, twice, and a third time, cutting nearly-invisible triggering mechanisms before replacing the blade back in her boot. She rose and gave the planks a gentle push; the rotting wood fell inward, revealing a hidden passage behind them. "You happy now?"

"I would be if I knew what you just did," shrugged Hawke.

"Tripwire that activates poisoned needles in your foot when you open the door. Next time I can let the trap bite you in the ass, if you prefer. I hear fleshrot poison is quite popular these days," said the sea captain, standing up. She glanced over her shoulder at Anders, and the smile melted from her face. "Let's move on, sweet thing" she said, disappearing into the tunnel.

The Fereldan woman waved the others to follow, and entered the corridor herself. The narrow passageway had a low ceiling, forcing Hawke to crouch down to get through. As she stepped through the tunnel, she noticed a tingle in her nose. It was slight to begin with, a tickling sensation that smelled very slightly sour. It didn't stand out among the other, more disgusting odors, but the scent grew stronger and more acrid. The tingling in her sinuses grew as she approached a turn in the tunnel. Her vision began clouding over, and she felt unsteady on her feet. She held up a fist, and she heard the movement behind her stop. She wobbled for a moment, and the world went topsy turvy. The floor started to melt into strange, globular shapes. She dropped to her knees, before strong, steady hands were at her shoulders and back.

Hawke coughed as the hands pressed something wet to her lips. Cloth of some sort, damp and still warm. She recognized the aroma, it still smelled strongly of the pirate. The hands quickly tied the fabric around her mouth, then massaged her back gently until she took a breath. The woozy feeling in her head immediately began to clear, but she felt a creeping sense of warmth radiate from her chest. She looked up, confused.

"Come on," commanded Isabela, through the blue bandana tied around her nose and mouth. "Cover your noses and mouths before you start stabbing each other. It's that same Qunari poison gas," she called.

The unsteady Champion laughed a bit to herself as she leaned against the pirate. Isabela's tunic draped loosely about her rear; the waist sash that usually held it in place was missing. She glanced behind her, noting Aveline and Anders raising scarves to their faces. She stood and let the swarthy captain lead her forward.

The pirate hefted one of Hawke's arms around her shoulders and helped her hobble to her feet. The two women moved as quickly as the Champion could. Isabela pointed at the floor, where the corpse of a dark-haired woman lay sprawled out and face down. A pool of blood had dried and stained the ground black about her pale skin. More darkened stains were spattered on the walls. The corsair knelt to examine the body, turning it over to look at the corpse's face.

Hawke looked at the kneeling buccaneer questioningly. The pirate nodded her head.

"It's her. It looks like she died from a gut wound. She didn't die quickly," said Isabela grimly, quickly searching the body. She slid a small knife out of her boot and cut the chain on the woman's necklace. She tossed the bejeweled amulet to Hawke. "She won't be needing this anymore. Come on, there's a door up ahead."

The door had nearly been torn from its hinges, and hung awkwardly. The wood had deep scratches running its length, and there was dried blood in the grooves. A heavy padlock lay smashed near the portal. There was blood on the lock. The pirate pulled the door to one side, and raised a hand to her mouth in horror at the sight that greeted her.

Corpses covered the floor, many of them dead in the throes of violence. Sticks, boards, and other crude clubs were clutched in several bloodied hands, and many of the bodies had large bruises and crushed limbs. Many of them were women, four had short dark hair with fair skin, and bright blue eyes. Her breath caught when she saw the children. Fierce grimaces were still affixed to their faces even in death, and brutal bite and claw marks dotted their bodies. She involuntarily stepped backward, bumping into the woman behind her.

Hawke placed a reassuring hand on Isabela's shoulder, and the two exchanged a significant glance.

"The gas didn't have anywhere to go, they were all locked in here," the captain whispered, taking Hawke's hand in hers. "It made them kill each other."

"The Arishok said that the gas drives people mad, makes them kill each other in a frenzy. These people tried to escape. Someone did all of this _intentionally_," Hawke replied grimly.

"These people deserve better than this. _She_ deserved better than this," said Isabela. "Burn it down, Hawke. Burn it all down."

* * *

><p>"The fire should be contained within the compound," said Aveline, arms folded. She stood, watching the pyre burn from a distance. "Everything should be safe."<p>

"The flames should consume the gas too. After the fire dies out, this place should be safe again," added Anders, squatting and mopping his face with his handkerchief.

"Who would do such a thing?" asked Hawke aloud. "What would anyone have to possibly gain from killing a group of men, women and children?"

Isabela sighed as she leaned against a wall. "Does it matter? They've died. It's terrible, but it's done with," she mused. "We should just be glad that _we_ didn't fall prey to the blighted gas and start stabbing each other."

"Always looking on the bright side. Did you at least find any clues on the bodies?" grumbled Aveline.

"Just this," replied the swashbuckler, holding up the amulet she had retrieved. A beautiful gold medallion with small rubies set in the face in the shape of the Amell crest dangled on the end of the gold chain. The silhouette of the city of Kirkwall was etched into the face of the medallion. On the rear side of the amulet, the words "_For my Champion_" were engraved in flowing script.

Hawke took it from the pirate and examined it. "It looks like my family seal. But I don't remember mother ever having anything like this before," she said, frowning. "Why would this be among the dead? A thief?"

"No. It's not from your fortune, sweet thing. Look at the inscription," said the pirate. She pointed at the script on the golden necklace. "Think about who we found it on. There must be some connection between whoever did this and Jillian. There's no way she would have worn jewelry like this in Darktown without reprisal."

"You're being awfully cavalier about this. Wasn't she your friend?" accused Anders, getting to his feet. "Don't you want to see justice done? Don't you want her death avenged?"

"She's dead. Nothing you or I do will bring her back," Isabela replied, shrugging. She turned to leave. "Catch her killer or not, she'll never be there to appreciate it."

* * *

><p>The world was pleasantly spinning. The low roar of the bar patrons had melted into a gentle rushing sound, and the only thing Isabela could see clearly was the bottle of blue Llomerynn whiskey in front of her. Her head felt pleasantly warm, and her cheeks were flushed dark from the alcohol. The effects were helping, those annoying feelings of fear and loss had dulled to a small, uncomfortable lump in the back of her head. She no longer saw face after face of pallid, lifeless images of her lover's when she closed her eyes. All that remained was to get to bed and pleasure herself until her body forgot the disgusting, roiling feeling deep in her innards. Had the circumstances been different, she would have found a lover for the night; anyone would do. But those feelings belonged to a different Isabela, one who seemed a lifetime away. She craved physical satisfaction, however, and was looking forward to getting it one way or another.<p>

The other patrons gave her a wide berth; when she had started, they had crowded around like normal. A few contusions and bruises convinced them to leave her be. She leaned on the bar and unsteadily raised her cup to her lips again. She tilted the cup up, but the contents were dry. Confused, the pirate peered into the mug to verify it was indeed empty, before uncorking the bottle and pouring the last of the liquid into the cup. She was about to quaff its contents when a slender gloved hand deftly plucked the tumbler from her grasp. She stared at her hand for a moment, as if she couldn't quite believe that the mug was missing, before turning to see who had dared to take her drink from her.

"I thought I'd find you here," Hawke said, putting the empty tankard down on the bar. "Llomerynn whiskey? Did you drink that entire bottle?"

The pirate squinted at the vision before her. "Hawke? Isshat you?" she slurred. "How come there'sh three of you? I think I've had thish dream before..." She muttered, her foggy memory firing. It was one of her favorites.

"Come on, I think you've had enough for tonight," soothed Hawke. "Look, the bottle's empty."

The corsair peered at the bottle blearily, before sighing gloomily. "It'sh fine. I wash done with it anyway." She stood unsteadily, wobbling on her feet. The floorboards rose and fell like the sea, and it took her a moment to find her footing. "When did the Hanged Man get sho wavy?" she asked, suspicious.

The Champion pulled one of the Rivaini's arms about her shoulders and started walking the rogue toward her room. "Are you alright, Isabela? You're more drunk tonight than I've seen you in a while." The lanky woman's back felt warm and strong against the pirate's skin.

"Mmm fiiine... I would rather have sheksh tonight anyway," the drunken rogue declared. Her breath was thick with the smell of alcohol. "We're shtill alive... enjoy life while we can," she added, hiccuping.

The pirate pushed the thoughts of fear and horror back once more, as she tried to focus on the sensations of warmth and the thoughts of the night's pleasures. She refused to think about the bodies again. She refused to think about losing Hawke in such a way. Instead, the inebriated buccaneer seized an opportunity and began nuzzling the Champion's neck as the two made their way through the patrons toward Isabela's room in the rear of the establishment.

"Isabela, come on. Let's just go to your room, and-" began the Champion.

The pirate reached with her right arm, looped about the Fereldan's shoulders, and began massaging the Champion's right breast. She started off with gentle strokes, but began pressing her nails into the soft flesh. Her victim gave a little squeak of surprise, and the dusky Rivaini woman took it as further encouragement. The rogue caressed her lover's thigh with her left hand in an upward motion, before raking her nails down. She scratched hard enough to cause marks in the skin of the flustered Fereldan.

Isabela grinned as she felt Hawke increase her pace towards her room. The distracted noble half-heartedly tried to bat away the captain's wandering hands, soundly slapping them once or twice . As they neared the door, Isabela slipped away from the Fereldan and onto her feet, silently cursing the world for swaying unsteadily beneath her heels. The lanky noble felt the weight lift from her shoulders and straightened. She looked over her shoulder for a moment, confused, before she felt a slap on her ass. She squeaked in surprise and spun, only for the lusty rogue to pounce on her, both women stumbling backward into Isabela's room.

The Champion staggered backward, bumping into a small bookshelf filled with dog-eared tomes and publications. The top of the shelf dug painfully into her back as she felt the dusky corsair's strong hands grasp her collar and tear her tunic open, exposing her creamy skin to the cool air. She lurched to her feet, but the canny duelist simply threw her weight to the side, sending both of them onto the floor in a heap.

"_Need_ you," growled the pirate, as she climbed on top and straddled the dazed Fereldan. The swarthy woman ground her hips against her pinned paramour as she leaned down to nip and bite almost painfully at the Champion's exposed flesh. "Need to _feel_ it," she snarled, squeezing her lover's breasts hard enough to leave red finger marks.

The rushing sound in her ears drowned out the other sounds in the room. The buccaneer vaguely felt _something_ touching her arms and shoulders, but the sensations were faint - detached, as if she was experiencing things secondhand. She pondered it for a moment, and the roiling dark feeling in the pit of her stomach that she had spent all night combating began to spread through her chest and lungs again.

"Want you," the pirate urged, leaning down and desperately kissing her lover. She needed to make the feeling go away, needed to run, needed to replace it with something, _anything_ else. She tried to concentrate on the trembling woman beneath her, to feel the soft and smooth skin against her lips, but it wasn't enough. Isabela needed _more_.

She heard a yelp of pain. It sounded as if it had come from far away, and she paused. Sensations came slowly to her, as if trying to penetrate the fog in her head. She licked her lips and tasted the metallic tang of blood on her tongue. She pulled back, confused. She willed herself to look down, and her own sharp intake of breath caused the world to spin even faster in her periphery.

Hawke lay beneath her, breathing heavily and staring at her with her soulful blue eyes full of confusion and tinged with hurt. Her pink lips and pale skin were marred by a brilliant streak of bright red blood, welling up and flowing slightly down her rounded chin. The sight of the blood pierced through the haze in her mind, flooding her with sensation and throwing the rest of the world into sharp relief. Every detail leaped out at her, from the way the lamp light reflected off of the liquid to the deep shade of red set on the pale background. Her heart skipped a beat and began to pound, and the full weight of the emotions she had been trying to drink away, every last bit of the uneasiness and fear, came flooding back through the walls she had been trying to erect around them with alcohol all night.

Her eyes darted from the deep crimson of the blood to the only other source of color in her vision. Hawke's deep sapphire irises were overflowing with emotion - fear, concern, and love. Isabela felt lost in the blue gaze, her cheeks suddenly flushing in shame.

"I... I didn't-" began the captain, fumbling for the words that would not come. She closed her eyes, trying to gather her thoughts, trying to find the right thing to say. The faces of the dead women appeared unbidden, still contorted in pain and death, superimposed on her lover's face. The image of the Champion's face emerged from the swirling shadows, and she could see every perfect detail. Her cracked, dry lips, her cold, clammy skin, and the haunted, lifeless look in her unblinking eyes. The drunken rogue raised her hands to her eyes, in a futile attempt to stop the rush of emotions assaulting her from all sides.

Warm arms encircled her, drawing her close and holding her in safety and comfort. She held herself stiff for a brief moment, before giving in and melting into the arms of her lover, and clutching her with renewed ferocity. The heat and comfort radiating Hawke's body warred against her fears in the recesses of her mind, and for a brief moment Isabela thought that it wouldn't be enough, that she'd lose her fragile grip on her composure. She closed her eyes, and clung to the woman in her arms for dear life, gritting her teeth and finally letting go of her own meager defenses. The fear flooded in, threatening to envelop her, before crashing and shattering against the feelings she refused to release. The anxiety melted away, leaving her trembling with a sense of warmth and serenity at her core.

Hawke whispered soothing words to the still-trembling woman as she held her tightly. "It's going to be alright," she whispered over and over, stroking the rogue's hair and rubbing her back in small circles.

The words echoed in Isabela's head as she finally drifted off to a dreamless sleep.

* * *

><p>When morning came, the Champion cracked an eye open and winced. She was lying on the floor of Isabela's room in the Hanged Man, and a bit of light from the sun had come in through a window and caught on the glass bottle on the pirate's bookshelf. The glare from the shiny bottle was angled just right to shine brightly in Hawke's left eye, and she raised one hand to shield her face from the relentless sun. It was hardly the first time she had awoken in an uncomfortable position, and definitely not the first morning she had spent on the floor of Isabela's room. The Rivaini's bed was little more than simple linen sheets thrown over canvas sacks of loosely packed straw. It was comfortable enough when they used it, though she could deal without the occasional stalk jabbing her in the back when she lay down. The overall comfort level was likely the reason they spent more of their evenings at her estate. She shifted, and the weight pressing down on her shifted with her. She glanced down.<p>

Isabela was still asleep, her head resting on the noblewoman's breast. The slumbering pirate sensed the change in motion; she smacked her lips and rubbed her cheek against the smooth skin, and Hawke felt a brief twinge of discomfort as the side of the pirate's golden earring poked her in a particularly sensitive spot. The Champion traced her index finger along the dusky captain's smooth cheek and jawline, briefly brushing the lip stud, and finally touching the buccaneer's full lips with her fingertip.

The sleeping rogue stirred, licking her lips and raising a hand to rub at her face. She lay her head back down on her breast pillow and looked up at Hawke. A moment later she lazily smiled at her lover, her half-lidded gaze full of comfort and warmth.

"Is... is it morning already?" Isabela mumbled, yawning.

"Mm-hmm," agreed Hawke, stroking the pirate's hair.

The Rivaini rubbed her cheek against her pillow again, before continuing. "Did we... last night?" she asked, unsure.

"I don't think so, despite the state of undress," replied the Champion.

"Then why do I feel so refreshed?" wondered Isabela. Her eyes flew open as the memories returned in a flood of recognition. She bit her lower lip silently, tensing her muscles for a moment. She heard a sound in her ear; the steady, soothing rhythm of the Fereldan's heartbeat calmed her and the tension drained from her as quickly as it had come. She murmured, "Hawke, I... thank you. For last night."

"Next time we do this, I want a real bed. The floorboards are fine for our usual exertions, but I think I'll be walking funny today. And, sadly, not for the usual reasons," replied Hawke in her usual, jovial voice. She stroked the pirate's hair with her right hand, eliciting a pleased sigh from her passenger, before her stomach loudly growled in protest. "You might still be sleepy, but your pillow needs breakfast," mused the Champion.

"Five more minutes?" asked the rogue.

Hawke's stomach gurgled in response, louder this time.

"I suppose I could be persuaded to have some pancakes as well," sighed the pirate, rising from the floor. She raised her arms over her head and stretched out, bending backward and thrusting her chest out.

Hawke sat up and watched, transfixed at the sight for a moment. Her mouth went dry.

"Like what you see?" smirked the dusky sea captain, extending her hand toward the seated woman.

"I look forward to inspecting it more closely later," nodded the Champion, clasping the corsair's hand firmly in hers and standing. "Do you suppose Corff has any bacon this morning?"

"If we're quick about it. Come on, Hawke. I'm positively famished, and you're going to need your strength for what I have planned for you after breakfast."

* * *

><p>"So I'll see you tonight then?" asked Hawke as she pulled on her boot.<p>

"Don't go all clingy on me, Hawke," smirked the pirate from the bed. She noticed the Champion stiffen before rising from her bedside, and the corsair smirked to herself. She sat up and swatted the Fereldan on the backside.

The Fereldan gave a little jump before spinning to look at her lover.

Isabela reached out and took Hawke's hand in hers. "Make sure Bodahn sets a place for me at the table," she laughed, gently squeezing the noble's fingers.

"Aye aye, Captain," said Hawke, casually throwing Isabela's tunic at the nude rogue who deftly snatched it out of the air her other hand. "And what shall you be doing today?"

"I'm stopping by my ship for a bit. Varric asked for my help with some of his manuscripts. Factual accuracy, you understand. I also think I might visit that hat shop in Lowtown," replied Isabela. "Perhaps shopping for other sundries as well," she added.

"Well, be good. I've got a mountain of invitations to answer. Will you be coming with me on any of them?" sighed the noblewoman.

"Choose the two with the best food," nodded the dusky Rivaini, releasing the Champion's hand.

"Yes, dear," laughed Hawke as she turned to leave.

"And Hawke..." added the pirate, trailing off.

"Hmm?"

"Thank you. I mean it."

Hawke gave her a gentle kiss before leaving.

When she was sure Hawke had gone, Isabela dressed quickly and pulled back her blankets. She raised the golden medallion she had lifted from Hawke's clothing and examined it closely. The work was finely crafted, it was no ordinary ornament. Someone had to know something.

"And I'm going to find out who," she muttered to herself, grasping the amulet tightly in her gloved hand. She finished fastening her boots to her legs and slid her blades into the sheaths on her back, before walking out her door.

* * *

><p>The interior of the Blooming Rose looked the same during the day as it did after sundown. Most of the windows were covered in thick velvet curtains, or had tapestries depicting erotic acts with mythical creatures hung over them to keep the daylight out. A group of elven musicians ensured that soft music was always playing, and dozens of candles and lamps provided a warm, ethereal glow to the establishment. Isabela smiled as she entered, noting the friendly chatting sounds coming from the brothel bar.<p>

Madam Lusine looked a bit tired from a distance. She was sipping a cup of something from the bar, but brightened and put on her smile when the pirate approached. "Captain Isabela, welcome back to the Blooming Rose. Didn't bring the Champion this time?" she greeted.

"She had more pressing matters," shrugged the Rivaini. "I'm here for myself today."

"Whoever you wish, Captain. Jillian still hasn't returned, I'm afraid. Perhaps you would like Vergil the Dragon Layer? Or could I interest you in Cleft-Tongue Nina?" Lusine asked, glancing in her logbook.

"Tempting as those two sound, I think I would like Lianne again. She did such a good job last time, I would like a second helping," grinned the corsair.

"An excellent choice, Captain. Head along to the rabbit room, and she'll be with you shortly," smiled the Madam.

"One last thing... I would appreciate your discretion on this matter from the Champion," added Isabela as she turned.

"Of course, Captain. Consider it done," replied Lusine, inclining her head.

* * *

><p>The rabbit room had always been Isabela's least favorite room at the brothel. The room was large, but there were sharp edges and corners from shelves and item racks everywhere, and the bed was covered in a blanket lined with rabbit fur. The paintings on the wall were all themed after hunting. Naked forest nymphs with bows and arrows chased game, virile looking huntsmen grappled with the nymphs, and bearded, deer-legged fauns ravished noblewomen in bowers of trees and heather. Isabela pulled the covers back and flung them to one side of the bed, taking care not to touch any of the stains or matted fur on the lining.<p>

"Ugh, I wish they'd wash this thing more often," she grimaced.

The moments ticked by as the bored rogue played with the things in the room. She began by jumping on the bed. The soft feathers provided an ample springboard, and she laughed to herself as she bounced up and down on the balls of her feet. It did eventually grow tiresome, as her feet eventually carved a small crater in the center of the bed. She blushed for a moment, embarrassed, before pulling the covers back over the indentation, and turning her pursuits elsewhere.

"I'm sure they'll just write it off as sex gone wild," she reassured herself.

Noting the desk with parchment and ink, she quickly sat down and began scribbling. She drew a smiling Hawke first, and then a pair of glorious breasts. She laughed and continued by drawing a small chest full of glimmering coin. The chest was soon surrounded by a crude sketch of herself carrying the chest in a running motion and laughing joyfully, followed by an angry Aveline, yelling and chasing while spewing fire from her mouth and smoke from her nostrils. She had just begun adding a handlebar mustache to the angry redhead when she heard Lianne clear her throat from the doorway to the room.

"I'm sorry it took so long, my last client was... insistent," the courtesan offered as she entered the room.

"Oh? Someone greatly enjoying the championing of your cause?" smirked the pirate.

"If you can call it that. Refused to leave until I paddled his bottom over a table," she shrugged. "I see you're here without your fur-smoking tuna taster. Shall I show you what tricks I've learned in the meantime?"

"Perhaps later," smiled the sea captain. "First, I want you to tell me everything you know about this," she continued, tossing the gold medallion to Lianne.

The dark-haired prostitute caught the heavy amulet in both hands, and her eyes widened in recognition. "Is this what I think it is?" she asked, inspecting the fine craftsmanship. She turned over the necklace to read the inscription on the back.

"That depends on what you think it is. It's real gold and real gemstones. Someone paid a fortune to have this made, and I want to know who that someone is," replied the pirate, steepling her fingers.

"This was Jillian's. One of her clients gave it to her as a present. I remember her showing this thing around to the others like it was pulled straight from Andraste's dimpled treasure box. She was so proud of it, she'd never take it off..." Lianne trailed off, raising an eyebrow. "What happened to her?"

"She's dead. We found this on her body," Isabela sighed. "You'd best be careful. It's no coincidence she was targeted."

"I thought as much. Stupid rump wrangler should have known better, but the man-mattress was always too good, too popular, too special to listen to the rest of us," spat Lianne grimly. "Splitting your buns in Darktown is asking for trouble. Whoever did it must be sporting a golden truncheon to get Jillian to swallow swords down there. I've done some nasty things for coin, but even I wouldn't go down in Darktown."

"Do you know who gave it to her?" asked the captain.

"Between Jillian's regulars, it has to be du Gaudet. It can't be Comptesse La Croix, she's behind on her payments and hasn't been to the Rose for weeks. Madam Lusine told us to refuse her salt and pepper snapping satchel if she came in looking for us," muttered Lianne, thinking to herself. "That leaves Compte Mont-Renaud, and he's rich, but his family's fortune loses in both length and girth to Lord du Gaudet's."

"Hawke mentioned du Gaudet before. How wealthy is he?" Isabela asked, curious.

"The man has more coin than Itchy Iona has crabs. His family owns a literal gold mine near the Nevarran border. You think your little clam-slamming Champion has coin? Her purse is miniscule compared to the size of the du Gaudet family jewels," said Lianne.

"Something like this wouldn't be much for a man of his stature, hmm?" asked the pirate, retrieving the medallion from the courtesan.

"Likely not. From what I hear, his stature is short, shriveled, and slightly to the left," smirked the foul-mouthed sex worker. "But he's rich, and nobody dares say anything. To his face, anyway. Possessive, that one. I heard he used to play rough with some of his favorites. A real beaver beater, that one."

"I'll keep it in mind," nodded the sea captain.

A silent moment passed. The courtesan glanced at the crude sketches on the sheaf of paper and smirked. The expression on Lianne's face grew sly, as she changed the subject. "So... is it true what they say about the Champion? You must have stories to share," asked the prostitute, leaning in and grinning.

"Oh, I do indeed. Let me tell you about this special Feastday gift I bought for her! You see, I had to have a special lightning rune crafted..." Isabela began, a brilliant smile on her face.

* * *

><p>"Ah, you've returned!" The jovial dwarven majordomo bowed with a flourish as Hawke finally walked in through the foyer. "Welcome home, messere. A letter came for you; I've left it on your desk. Captain Isabela also came looking for you. Lovely woman, she is. Reminds me of me cousin, Lanie. She was a noble hunter, you know," he greeted.<p>

"Thank you, Bodahn," replied Hawke graciously.

"Also, Captain Isabela is waiting for you in the great room. At least, I think she is. Will she be joining us for supper tonight? We'll be having some fresh sea bass I purchased today," inquired Bodahn.

"Set an extra place for her. You know how much she likes sea bass," said the Champion, smiling.

"Messere, I wouldn't presume to impose. You've been very kind to my boy and I, and I don't want you thinking I'm speaking out of place about your guests, but... er..." began the dwarf, hesitantly.

"Is this about Isabela, Bodahn?" asked Hawke, arching an eyebrow and smirking. "Please, feel free to speak your mind. She has that effect on people sometimes."

"The good captain has er... proclivities, messere. She likes to _carve_ things. Shapes, specifically," Bodahn replied, looking uncomfortable.

"Ah... I'll see if I can get her to stop. Or at least do so in a less public place," nodded the Champion.

"Very good, serah. Thank you again," nodded the steward, visibly relieved.

The fire was crackling merrily as Hawke padded into the great room. The dusky rogue was leaning on the bannister to the stairs, with a wicked smirk on her face and a blade in her right hand. She carved away on the handrail, lost in her artistry. Hawke loudly cleared her throat as she walked over to the writing desk.

"What sort of atrocities are you inflicting on my poor bannister now, you saucy wench?" asked the noblewoman, a crooked grin on her face and hands on hips.

"I'm simply adding the proper details to your likeness," laughed the pirate, without looking up from her work.

"How would anyone know that's supposed to be me? You only carve your artwork from the neck down," sighed the Fereldan, shaking her head.

"Well, we'll know, and the rest will guess. I think the Captain Cold Cooter suspects," grinned the corsair, adding a few more details.

Hawke idly picked up the envelope on her desk and glanced down at the seal of a charging ram set into the wax. Wondering which noble family had a charging ram on their coat of arms, she broke the seal with her thumb and opened the letter.

"Dear Champion," it read. "Certain matters have come to my attention that require your counsel. They concern the recent tragedy in Darktown. The Guard Captain suggested that I reach out to you. These are sensitive matters that concern the killings greatly. The lives of many depend on your secrecy. Come tonight to the Viscount's Way at midnight, and come alone. Tell no one." It was signed Lord Donovan du Gaudet. She glanced from the parchment to the pirate, carving away at her handrail.

She turned the envelope over in her hand, examining it for any other clues.

"What're you reading?" asked the pirate suddenly from her perch on the stairs.

"Oh, it's nothing. Just another request for the Champion, you know how it is," Hawke replied, refolding the letter. "Did your day go well?"

"It was educational," nodded the buccaneer. "I bought a new chest for the captain's cabin aboard my ship. One with enough room for someone who changes clothes as often as you do," she smiled.

"We'll have to look for some booty to fill it with," nodded Hawke. "Now, if you're quite finished defacing my handrail, I believe I smell the sea bass."

"You always knew I had a taste for fresh fish, Hawke," smirked the pirate, taking the Fereldan's arm in hers and pulling her toward the dining room.

* * *

><p>Isabela woke as she detected the movement in the bed. Hawke had seemed distracted during their usual bedroom enjoyments, which only confirmed her suspicions that something had been bothering her normally-enthusiastic lover.<p>

She kept her eyes closed as she felt her favorite pillow move, attempting to extricate itself from her arms and legs. She loosened her grip and felt Hawke wiggle a bit, edging towards the side of the bed. The Champion moved an inch at a time until she finally got free of the dusky hands that had been wrapped around her moments before, breathing a small sigh of relief that the pirate had not visibly stirred. The noblewoman attempted to pull her leg from the coverlet and shifted her weight awkwardly.

The pirate winced when she felt the weight in the bed shift as Hawke fell onto the rug, pulling the blankets with her. She heard the woman quietly mumble curses and swallowed her chuckle as the cool air caressed her freshly bared breasts.

Hawke quickly rose from her position on the floor, and peered carefully at her apparently-sleeping lover. The swarthy rogue gave a small, sleepy-sounding moan and rolled over in the bed, turning her naked back to the silent observer. The relieved noblewoman gave the pirate a light kiss on the cheek and pulled the covers over her softly breathing form, before dressing quickly and carefully and leaving the room.

As soon as she was sure Hawke had left the room, Isabela immediately tossed aside the blankets and pulled on the special outfit she had set aside for such an occasion as fast as she could. Eschewing her usual white tunic, instead she donned a black linen bodysuit. She tied her hair back with her headscarf and buckled her sheathed blades onto her back.

"She's got a long way to go before she'll be able to sneak away from me," Isabela muttered to herself as she finished strapping her boots on. The pirate paused for a moment and sighed. "And I've got a long way to go before I leave well enough alone," she added before quickly moving out the door.

The Amell estate seemed eerily empty in the flickering candlelight. The shadows of the furniture danced along the high ceiling, adding to the ethereal atmosphere of the manor. However, Isabela's practiced eyes were immediately drawn to the movement by the foyer. The Champion of Kirkwall tiptoed to the door and carefully slipped out. The pirate silently padded down the stairs and silently opened "her" window. She vaulted over the window sill to the outside, landing on the balls of her feet. Closing the window behind her, she silently crept to follow the noblewoman through the darkened streets.

The sea captain stayed at a good distance, keeping to the shadows and staying out of sight. Hawke moved with a brisk pace through the narrow alleyways and passages, looking back and forth for movement in the empty streets. The crescent moon cast unsettling shadows from overhead; the cheerful orange light cast by burning braziers fixed at each manor home provided a sharp contrast to the silvery glow of the moon. The Champion solemnly made her way up the great steps leading to the Viscount's Way, and paused.

A hooded figure stood in the center of the Viscount's Way. It was a man, powerfully built and sporting a thin, straight sword at his hip. He bowed to the approaching Champion, and pulled his hood back to reveal his curly black hair and well-trimmed beard.

Isabela flitted to the nearest column, taking care to keep out of sight. She watched carefully as the Fereldan woman spoke.

"Alright, I'm here. I suppose you didn't call me here for tea and discussing Lady Janice's latest hairdo, did you?" Hawke asked, hands on her hips.

"Always so flippant, Champion. I do admire that about you. The ability to throw caution to the wind for the sake of a joke," the man said, his voice thick with amusement. He stepped closer to her, circling her slowly as if examining a newly-purchased horse. "And so beautiful... the paintings and song really do not do you justice," he continued.

She looked at him sharply. "The killings, Ser. You asked me here because you had information on the killings," she said, the irritation evident in her body language.

"And so focused. I can see why you were able to earn the respect of the Arishok," he cooed, placing a large hand on her shoulder. The Champion shrugged it off quickly, the unease evident on her face. He chuckled and the sinister sounds echoing through the broad corridor. "You needn't act so coy, Champion. I've had my eye on you for a long time, ever since you saved the worthless nobility of Kirkwall from that horned monster. You're a fine prize. My greatest prize."

Isabela couldn't quite see Hawke's expression from her vantage point, but the Fereldan's stiffened shoulders and folded arms told her that those icy blue eyes were narrowed and disapproving.

"This isn't a date, and I've already got someone I care for. If you're through wasting my time-" Hawke began, before the Orlesian man raised his hand and barked a laugh.

"I did not lie. I called you here because I know all about the killings. You see, _I_ had them all killed. I needed to show you how serious I am," he said, as if talking about buying a bag of turnips.

"You _what_?" demanded the Champion, reaching for a weapon. Isabela tensed, one blade halfway out of its sheath already. If this man had planned on ambushing Hawke by herself this night, he'd be disabused of that notion before he could blink.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, Champion," he replied smoothly, raising a finger.

"Or what, you'll have a large number of mercenaries leap out of the shadows and kill me?" growled the angry noblewoman. "I've killed more mercenaries than the Orlesian army."

"Aye, that you have. I'm well acquainted with your list of exploits, my dear. Your rise to power, your indomitable spirit, and your uncanny knack for survival. That's what I find so attractive about you. I _know_ that any mercenaries I hire would simply fall before you like what before a scythe," he said, holding up his hands.

"Then why are we doing this song and dance? Give yourself up, we'll go see the guard captain, and I can be back home and getting some much-deserved rest before anyone else knows I'm gone," nodded Hawke amenably.

The hidden rogue strained to hear the villain's response.

"I said that you were my prize, and that it was a matter of life and death, and I meant every word," replied du Gaudet. "You see... there are more canisters of that abominable Qunari poison gas hidden throughout Kirkwall. Four more, as a matter of fact," he continued.

He raised his heavy golden medallion, sparkling even in the moonlight. He pointed at it. "Four gems, four canisters. Each placed in a location for maximum exposure to the common, ordinary folk you seem to love so much," he said, the smugness rolling off of his tongue.

Hawke lashed out with one hand, trying to snatch the amulet from him. A flash of light enveloped her, and she screamed as jagged lightning arced from the amulet through her body. She fell to the hard stone in a heap, and struggled to rise again.

"I am not an imbecile, Champion. This is no ordinary control device. It is bound to me, as surely as your strength and skill is bound to you. I can activate the canisters whenever I wish," he murmured.

Hawke's hand went for her weapon as quickly as Isabela pulled her dagger back to throw at the man's neck.

"Ah, before you think of simply stabbing me and relieving me of my life before I can activate the canisters," he interrupted quickly, holding up a finger, "the amulet is not merely a mechanism to control the canisters, it draws the power from my very life force."

"Blood magic," spat the Champion, rising to her feet.

"That's right, princess. If I breathe my last, they all go," he said with a smile, tucking his amulet back into the front of his doublet. He buffed his fingernails against his chest and looked at them.

"You're mad," growled Hawke.

"Oh, on the contrary. I'm actually quite pleased with this turn of events. I've done what no demon, monster, mage, or mercenary could do. I've bested the Champion of Kirkwall," he laughed.

"What do you _want_?" snarled the Champion.

"You, Champion. I want you, by my side. You'll be my perfect consort, body and soul. You'll be mine, and all those innocent people will be yours," he said, the sinister glee dripping from every word. "I know it can be a lot to take in. I'll even give you some time to get acquainted with the idea and make your arrangements with that filthy lowborn guttertrash you call a lover."

Hawke stiffened, and refused to look at him. Isabela's chest tightened, and she fought back and she fought back the urge to stab the man in the gut and enjoy his last gurgling breaths.

As he brushed by the stricken Champion, he added in passing, "Come to my autumn ball as my date, four days hence with your answer. Dress appropriately, and tell no one of our arrangement... You know what will happen if you do."

The last they saw of him that night was his back as he descended the steps, whistling a merry tune to himself.

_To be continued..._

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><p><em>Author's Note: <em>

_Happy Holidays! I wanted to get this done before my trip to Asia, and I hope everyone enjoys it. I'm not dead! This story began as a high concept piece, and grew a bit naturally from that. You'll have to be content with waiting to see what happens next. I know that I was a bit harsh with Anders in this one, and I know he has a lot of fans. You'll have to wait and see what happens in the next one, I promise it will be addressed._

_The title refers to lionfish - an extremely delicious, but fatally poisonous fish. It may be eaten, but only when prepared just right._

_Shout outs to my prereading crew, for their always-useful tips and suggestions._

_Lots of love to grapey, who helped shape the concept for the story._

_Finally, the Isabela of Snacking fame has begun her own blog. It's mostly an ask blog, where internet denizens may ask her anything they wish and she will answer. You may find it at isabelaexplainsitall(dot)tumblr(dot)com. Should you be curious as to what she thinks of things, feel free to ask a question! You may find her response amusing._

_Cheers!_


	13. Commerce

Commerce

by Hoorayforicecream

"You can stop staring at the door, Yusuf. She's not coming in today," grumbled the grizzled older shopkeeper from behind the counter as he folded measures from the bolt of thick gray wool. The tailor glanced at his son and sighed, running one hand through his gray-streaked hair and adjusting the measurement tape looped around his neck.

"She'll be here, you'll see. Today's the day, I'm sure of it," responded Yusuf with a broad grin on his face. The young man was slim and gangly, with an easy smile and bright eyes that darted back toward the door nervously. He smoothed his clothes again and scratched at his thin growth of beard while staring out the window. "She's got to be interested in me. There's no other reason why she'd keep coming back like this."

"Boy, she has you wrapped around her finger like a ring, and she knows it. You know she could be here to visit the same tailor that serves the Champion of Kirkwall," chided his father.

"She's never even mentioned the Champion," retorted Yusuf defensively. " I'll bet she's just waiting for me to show the nerve to ask her to the springtime dance."

"Aye, and maybe pigs will eat dragons," laughed the elder tailor. "She's an eccentric one, I'll give her that."

"It's just an excuse! It has to be. Why else would she ask for this 'special merchandise' each time? How would she even know that we stocked it? She has to be interested in someone here, and that's me," finished Yusuf, proudly.

The old man sighed and glanced behind the counter at the "special merchandise". "Crazy women and their crazy vices," he muttered to himself, shaking his head.

The door to the small shop opened and jingled the little brass bell above it, as an elderly woman entered the small establishment. She nodded and smiled while Yusuf took the opportunity to crane his neck and look past her into the streets of Lowtown. Not seeing what he was hoping for, he sighed.

"Yusuf, treat mistress Fara with respect!" thundered his father, before turning to the aged customer. "Please forgive him, messere. The young fool is in love," apologized the old tailor.

The graying matron laughed and patted the tailor on the arm. "It's that time of year, Ser. The flowers have started to bloom, and springtime is upon us," she laughed. "Now why don't you show me some of your finer gray wools?"

"Of course, messere. Yusuf, mind the shop!" commanded the tailor, as he offered his arm to his customer.

Yusuf sulkily moved behind the counter and began to lay out bolts of the new green and blue linens they had just acquired. Spring was the time for greens and blues, after all. He began arranging them in order of color depth, starting from the lightest greens to the darkest blues.

The bell to the door jingled again, and Yusuf sighed once more. "Just hold on, I'll be right with you," he grumbled, taking his time adjusting the linens.

His breath caught in his throat when he heard a sultry woman's voice respond. "I'm just here for my _special_ merchandise," it said, sending shivers down his spine.

A bolt of powder blue linen fell from his nerveless fingers onto the floor, and he scrambled to pick it up. The flustered young man knelt and fumbled with the cloth before looking up and staring at the pair of glorious booted legs that leaned against the counter. The legs were long and shapely, hugged by the intricate leather boots that extended up past the knee, exposing a scandalous amount of bronze-skinned thigh. No mere girl, no ordinary adolescent, the owner of the limbs would never be mistaken for anything but a woman in every sense of the word. His eyes brushed over her lush body, looking at her rounded hips that were barely covered by her long tunic, her trim waist wrapped in the dark corset, and lingering on her magnificent breasts barely held in check by the white linens. The deep cleavage drew his eye like a moth to a flame, and he sat enraptured as she gently breathed in and out, causing the landscape of her chest to rise and fall.

She cleared her throat, and even the guttural noise sounded more feminine than any sounds the butcher's daughter had ever made when Yusuf had stolen away with her after the feastday dance during the last harvest festival. This woman made all the other girls he knew seem like malnourished little boys. His breath came in ragged gasps.

"My merchandise?" the woman inquired, giving him a crooked smile. His eyes darted to the golden labret piercing below her lip. He licked his lips, idly wondering what it would taste like. "Ser?" she asked again.

He fumbled for the words, but his mouth was dry and his tongue could barely move. He mutely reached beneath the counter and brought out the bundle of cloth. Her gorgeous amber eyes lit up when she saw it, and she reached one gloved hand to gently finger the rough cloth.

Finally, he found his voice. "A-are you s-sure you want these? We have much finer cloth here, and a woman as b-beautiful as you deserves-" he began, before she cut him off.

"No, these will be perfect," she said, each delectable word like the finest symphony to his ears. He watched as she placed a handful of silver and copper coin on the counter and hefted the bundle against her chest, causing her cleavage to contort delightfully against the cloth.

"Thank you," she said with a smile, as she turned to leave. The door jingled its merry sound as the vision of beauty left the shop. Yusuf stared at the closed door, lost in thought. He spun nervously when he heard footsteps behind him.

"She stopped by, I see," grumbled the old tailor as he returned with mistress Fara, who held a bolt of fine gray wool. He thanked her for her business and waved her out the door before continuing, "Did you at least count the money to make sure she paid the right amount this time?" he asked.

"I'm sure that she'd never cheat us," said Yusuf defensively. "A woman like her would never do something like that."

The old man sighed as he counted the coin on the counter. "Five silver less than last week, idiot boy. At least the Champion keeps us stocked in the 'special merchandise' and accepts a pittance in copper for them," said the old man.

"She must have a good reason. Do you suppose she'd appreciate it if I just gave them to her as a present? " asked Yusuf dreamily, imagining her reaction.

"She must be daft," grunted Yusuf's father. "Why else in the world would she come in to our shop and buy up every pair of torn trousers we have? And not even have us mend them!" he said, shaking his head.

"She's in love with me, and is just too shy to say it," declared Yusuf. "I'll tell her next time for sure, you'll see."

* * *

><p>"Isabela, you've had your ship for months now," began Aveline, as the two women stopped for a moment to investigate the area. "Why haven't you gotten her seaworthy yet? Shouldn't you have sailed away by now?"<p>

"I have _expenses_, big girl," scoffed Isabela. "Refitting a ship isn't cheap, and I refuse to sacrifice quality when I don't have to."

"But-" began the armored woman, but Isabela raised a hand to silence her.

The grinning pirate leaned against a wall and watched intently as Hawke bent over and started rooting around in a large barrel near some crates. The Champion's rear moved in fascinating ways, as the muscles flexed and relaxed beneath her leather pants. Hawke grunted with exertion as she stood on tiptoe to try to extend her reach another few inches, attempting to grab something that had caught her eye in the bottom of the barrel. The smirking corsair observed in silence, her smile growing with each passing second. Finally, the marvelous muscles clenched and the feet kicked as if their owner had found something interesting, and Hawke returned from the barrel holding a pair of torn trousers aloft like a prize.

"Where _do_ these things keep coming from?" asked Aveline incredulously. "Every time we come through Lowtown, we always seem to find them in barrels, crates and lockboxes."

"Perhaps it's some sort of fashion trend," offered Hawke, folding up the trousers and putting them carefully into her backpack. "But as long as the tailor shops keep giving me good coin for them, I'll keep collecting them."

"It is a mystery, isn't it?" smiled Isabela. "Come on, Hawke. I think I see another barrel over there."

* * *

><p><em>Author's Note: <em>

_Apologies for the time between updates. Work on Eating Lionfish, part 2 continues, though it is going a bit slower than I would like. The story is plotted and outlined, but I haven't yet finished writing all the smaller details. I blame myself (and TOR) for this, though the circumstances in my life have changed somewhat. I've started a new job, and I've moved about 2,000 miles to do it. I have no regrets though, this new job is bloody awesome. Hearty thanks to all my prereaders, though I don't think they had as much to say about this one. _

_If you would like to be a pre-reader, please let me know via e-mail at hoorayforicecream(at)yahoo(dot)com._

_The tumblr continues to populate. If you haven't had a chance to visit, please come by and ask Isabela a question! The blog site is isabelaexplainsitall(dot)tumblr(dot)com. Cheers._


	14. Decisions

Decisions

by Hoorayforicecream

Disclaimer: This short story is a bit racier than my usual faire. It is about as graphic as one of the stories from Shots (you know the one). If you are uncomfortable with the idea of a woman with a healthy sexual appetite, you're probably reading the wrong stories.

* * *

><p>Raindrops fell steadily from the darkened, cloudy sky. If one listened carefully, one could hear the gentle patter of fat globs of moisture hitting the stone and slate of the dockside inn's roof. But for the inhabitants of the room, the noise was drowned out by the fervent gasps and gentle grunting of two people locked in physical union. The woman sat astride, rocking her hips back and forth as she rode him hard. The young, muscular man had both hands planted firmly on her hips, pressing her toward him with each upward thrust as his eyes screwed shut in pleasure. She had her eyes firmly fixed on the window, observing the gentle rain through the small window above him. His pace increased with his breaths, short ragged gasps coming with fevered thrusts. Finally, he clenched and groaned before falling back on the bed, satisfied. She felt his release and sighed, dismounting and moving from her spent lover toward the pile of discarded clothing. She pulled her tunic over her head and slipped on one of her glorious boots, before sparing a glance behind her.<p>

The man, whatever his name was, was already drifting off to sleep. She sighed again as she looked at him. It had been a reasonably pleasant rutting session, but it had, once again, left her feeling genuinely unsatisfied. He had had the stamina she had hoped for, having gone three times before finally falling to exhaustion, but she had, for lack of better word, come no closer to true release the third time as she had since she'd left Kirkwall. She had built up a great deal of pent-up frustration without adequate outlet for venting over the past thirty months across seven ocean voyages, and her search for real satisfaction had been utterly fruitless. She had gone from port to port, tavern to brothel, and all of her attempts had led to just enough reprieve to keep herself from going stir-crazy. Her paramour began to snore. She rolled her eyes, buckling the boot and slipping on the second.

The physical sensations were nice, and she had chosen partners accomplished in their physical skills, but the best she had experienced for over two years was a slight tingle in her belly, the smallest amount of respite from the relentless pressure building inside her. Any pleasure she managed to have was barely enough to take the edge off, just enough to keep her going, and her body hungered for the sort of mind-numbing, toe-curling satisfaction she remembered having before. Not even a side trip to an Antivan brothel had lifted her spirits for longer than the first few minutes. She hadn't felt the real release she craved since...

She shook her head. Better not to think about that. With those thoughts came _feelings_, and the feelings were not all pleasant. She recalled bits and pieces of the memories she tried to banish from her waking thoughts with hard drink and harder bodies before shaking her head to dispel them again. Gorgeous ice blue eyes. Soft, warm lips. A mop of unruly, gorgeous hair. An inviting tongue, and fingertips that could touch her for days. Her frustration built again as she slid a hand down and touched herself, her second boot buckles momentarily forgotten. As her fingertips slid over her folds, she remembered the strange sensations flooding her body from a time she had tried to forget. A terrible battle between a mountain of muscle and metal against the creature that had her innards tied in knots. A whirlwind of blood, fire and steel. Angry words she didn't mean. Anger at _herself_ for feeling and saying such things. The horror that accompanied her realization that she actually _cared_. And the cold, empty sensation in her heart when she ran from it all that had lingered ever since.

A haze of memories enveloped her - her heart pounding in her chest, her eyes clenched shut to focus all of her attention on the sensations flooding her body, the feeling of firm, soft fingertips on every inch of her skin, and one of her fingers slipped inside her treasure, quickly followed by another. She arched her back as she imagined a phantom lover with ice blue eyes, kneeling before her and worshiping at the dusky altar of her body. She raised her other hand to her chest, squeezing gently and rubbing herself through the rough fabric.

The phantom in her mind increased its pace, and she followed suit with her fingers. The night's previous exertions forgotten and completely oblivious to the snores of her lover, she began to moan as she worked her hands faster at their tasks. She felt the heat and the building pressure as it started inside her belly and seeped lower to her thighs and buttocks. The ghost in her fantasy pushed her back in her chair as it plunged three fingers into her deepest part, and she followed suit. A moment later, her entire body convulsed as wave upon wave of sensation radiated from her core up her torso, along her arms, and down her legs all the way to her toes. She breathed heavily for a moment, her body finally going limp.

A gentle snore broke her reverie, and she shook her head to clear the bursts of color in her vision. She sighed and looked over at the sleeping man, before rolling her eyes and finishing the buckles on her second boot and strapping her blades onto her back. She adjusted her head scarf and gently fingered her red silk armband before pushing the door open and leaving her latest man behind. The ship's next voyage was scheduled to stop in the port near Ostwick. Kirkwall was only a short voyage from there. Perhaps it was time to visit again, if only to obtain a _proper_ release.

* * *

><p>Author's Note: Apologies for the length between updates. Things with me have been rather crazy. I have not actually stopped writing, but I have had some affliction with the dreaded writer's block. Work continues on Eating Lionfish's second chapter, but it is slower going than expected. If you want your Isabela fix, I would encourage you all to visit the tumblr for more regular updates. Isabela enjoys voicing her opinion, dispensing advice, and telling stories to any who are interested in hearing. You can find her andor follow her at isabelaexplainsitall . tumblr . com, though for all you out there who read it, there is a new site design pending. I promise!

A big thank you to the pre-readers for this tale. If you wish to be a pre-reader, please contact me at hoorayforicecream at yahoo . com. Thanks for following my stories, and I hope that you'll enjoy this one and the others I will put out in the future. Cheers.


	15. Lessons by Moonlight

Author's Warning: This tale is definitely rated M. There's some fairly graphic descriptions of girly fun, and if you find such things offensive, you should probably skip it. But then... if you are reading this to begin with, you probably would push forward anyway. Just fair warning, this is definitely for mature audiences.

* * *

><p>"Bring her about, sweet thing. Nice and easy there, you know how I like it. Mmm, wonderful, just like that."<p>

The cool breeze blew the sweat from her brow as Hawke carefully pushed and pulled on the ship's wheel. Isabela leaned against the side railing, occasionally sauntering from one side of the deck to the other to slacken a particular line, or pull a sail in. She smiled back at the woman behind the wheel while brushing back a stray strand of hair from her face.

"Alright. Now lay in a course for Antiva City and we can have a little dinner and proceed with our usual evening entertainments," declared the captain as she approached her first mate. The dusky pirate took one of her lover's hands in hers, and gently curled the fair fingers around her golden sextant.

"Erm..." began Hawke. "How do I do that?"

"You still haven't learned how to navigate?" Isabela teased.

"I look through the thing, and then I see some... numbers or something. It's complicated!" replied Hawke, blushing. "It's all water out here, as far as the eye can see. It all looks the same! How in the Maker's name can you even tell what direction we're headed?"

"That's what the sextant is for, my lovely," said Isabela with a grin. "Those little numbers tell us where we are."

"It all just seems so complicated. Couldn't it just be some giant monster trying to eat us that we have to defeat? And then we're just magically whisked away to where we want to be without any fuss? That would be so much simpler," sighed the Champion.

"You just lack the proper motivation, sweet thing. What you need is Captain Isabela's practical lessons in nautical navigation," declared the corsair, snatching back the sextant and peering through it. In a moment, she said "Twelve degrees to port, and we should be fine."

The Champion grunted as she slowly turned the heavy wheel, counting off the seconds as the ship groaned and turned in the water. A moment later, she turned the wheel the other way, stabilizing the rudder and their heading.

"So are you going to be giving me this lesson now, Isabela?" she asked, holding the wheel steady. She jumped a bit in surprise as she felt two sets of fingers squeezing her rounded posterior.

"Not yet, lover. I need to make certain preparations for the lesson," whispered the dusky seductress into the Champion's ear. The Fereldan woman shivered reflexively at the sound of her lover's voice and pushed back a bit against the gentle fingers pressing themselves into her rear. For a brief moment, she could feel the heat of the pirate's body radiating into her back. She had just closed her eyes when the warmth suddenly vanished, and she was left with only the cool breeze of the sea in the light of the setting sun.

"Isabela? Where did you go?"

The Champion looked around but the deck was empty. The only sounds she could hear were the gentle lapping of the waves and the cries of the gulls.

Dinner consisted of dried meat, some biscuits, and chilled fruits that had been preserved with frost runes. Isabela had finished the meal and was contentedly picking her teeth with her knife. She raised an eyebrow as Hawke wiped her face with her napkin and pushed her wooden plate back.

"It's about time for your lesson, sweet thing," invited the pirate, setting the knife down and retrieving a small brass lockbox from cabin's heavy chest. She stood and gently brushed her fingers along the Champion's cheek before turning to leave.

"I'll be waiting for you on deck. Don't be long, my lovely."

Hawke turned to watch the corsair leave the cabin, briefly mesmerized by the sight of swaying hips. She shook her head to clear it from her momentary lustful fantasies and quickly put the utensils before hurrying to the deck.

The sun had already set and the stars had come out in full force. The night sky was beautifully clear, and the Champion felt like she could see for miles in each direction. The moon, big and bright, hung in the night sky and cast soft, gentle light on the water and ship. The gentle sounds of the lapping waves pleasantly filled her ears.

The pirate was waiting for her, leaning up against the main mast with her arms folded. Her tunic was unlaced, and it fell loosely about her body. Her corset, gloves and boots had likewise been discarded in a small pile by the mast. She smiled as Hawke approached, her even, white teeth caught the moonlight and seemed even brighter against the backdrop of her dusky skin. The sea captain beckoned to the Fereldan woman, reaching one hand out invitingly. Hawke took it in hers.

"Such a perfect evening for a lesson," began the pirate, pulling the Champion close.

The first mate began to protest as her captain quickly unlaced the Fereldan's tunic with nimble fingers, but the pirate paid no attention as she quickly pulled the overshirt up and over Hawke's head and cast aside. The Champion's bra was next, despite her protests, and soon her boots and trousers followed.

"I thought you brought me out here for a lesson," remarked the Champion, feeling the cool night air on her skin and shivering slightly in spite of herself.

"Oh, I have. You'll see. But first, we must position ourselves properly."

The smiling pirate drew her tunic up and over her head, revealing her very naked body underneath. Hawke noticed how Isabela's lone nipple ring caught the moonlight, but her eyes were especially drawn to the glowing silvery pattern of ink drawn around the Rivaini's navel.

Isabela pressed gently on her lover's shoulder and said, "Be a good girl and lie back for me."

Hawke laid down on the smooth wooden deck, feeling the hard timbers against her bare skin. The pirate joined her, propping herself up on one arm and stroking the Fereldan's belly with light touches of her fingertips.

"If this is a navigational lesson, I'm afraid I don't see it," quipped the Champion.

"You will, my darling. Lie back and look up at the stars. To the north, especially. Tell me what you see."

"I see... stars? Ow!" Hawke yelped as Isabela tweaked her left nipple.

"The shape, sweet thing. Do you see the shape?"

"Oh, I remember reading about this... you're talking about that templar constellation, aren't you? Oh, what was his name? Ser Cristov, was it? The first Knight-Commander," Hawke replied.

"Something like that, yes."

The Champion perked up a bit when she heard the pop of a stopper being removed from a bottle and gasped as, a moment later, she felt a gentle touch on her abdomen from gentle fingertips. The sensations were light and warm, pressing her skin and teasing her just below her navel. She stretched out comfortably, enjoying the tingles in her muscles as she relaxed beneath her lover's ministrations. The heat beneath her skin began to build as she sighed in contentment, before she yelped in surprise for a second time. The hard nub of something sharp pressing against her flesh. It wasn't painful, but it was surprising. It couldn't have been the Rivaini's fingernail, it was too thin and pointed for that. It traced small circles against her flesh, and left goose bumps in its wake.

The curious Fereldan looked down to see the canny pirate with a quill and an inkpot filled with the same sort of silvery glowing ink from before. The pirate held the long feather in one hand and was using her body as a canvas. Isabela slowly filled in the spots on Hawke's flesh with the glowing ink in the same pattern as the celestial constellation, gently teasing each star's position with her fingers and the tip of the quill. Something in the ink tingled as it touched her skin, and Hawke could feel an electric sensation arc through her abdomen each time that silvery nub came down.

"And to the east, my lovely?" asked the pirate as she continued her artistic endeavors, reaching her free hand to stroke a tense thigh almost indifferently.

The Champion's breath came in ragged gasps as she felt the heat under her skin meet the cool night air. "Th... the archdemon, Zazikel," she breathed, biting her lower lip.

"Wonderful, my darling," Isabela cooed, sketching the sinuous shape of the dragonish constellation on Hawke's right side. Hawke's body quivered as she felt every sensation on her skin. The hard, smooth wooden planks beneath her felt cool to her touch, the skin on her side and ribs felt like they were on fire with each additional star drawn onto her flesh. Each time the quill touched down, a new burst of sensitivity erupted in her nerves, causing each of the other stars drawn onto her skin to also flare up as the sensations renewed their assault.

The pirate, knowing full well the effects of the ink on her lover, slid her free hand down the fair woman's thigh and gently cupped her sex, pressing her palm against it. It triggered another wave of electricity that pulsed through Hawke's lower abdomen and right side, causing the prone woman to involuntarily buck her hips. The corsair smiled wickedly and nodded to herself, before crawling over her lover to begin on her left side.

"And we find ourselves to the west, sweet thing. What is the celestial body to the west, my lovely?"

"I... I don't... know. Just... do it," gasped the woman, gripping the pirate's arm.

The canny corsair sat back and removed her hand from the Fereldan's mound, clucking her tongue. "Come now, this is an important lesson. Who fights the archdemons?"

"The... the Grey Wardens," rasped the Champion.

"And what is their chosen symbol? What does Merrill always ask me to find her?"

"A... a griffon!" panted Hawke.

"Top marks, my student," declared the pirate, touching fingertips and quill to Hawke's left side.

The web of ink had become quite intricate, and the original sensations from each dab of ink had become textured, almost layered in sensation. Each star the pirate drew did not ignite every other star, but rather formed patterns of energy in a delicate web across the Champion's body. One star might touch off the dragon's claws, or the templar's sword, or the griffon's wings. Another would cause the beak, the claws, and the shield to burn. The experience was exquisite, as the sensations weren't all pleasure, but some were light amounts of soreness, some tension, some a sharp pain. But almost as quickly as they had started, then dissipated, leaving blissful relaxation in their wake.

The pirate crawled between the Champion's legs and gently pressed them apart, moving into place between the two of them. She gently lowered herself until her taut belly pressed against Hawke's core. The Fereldan gasped as the ink on Isabela's belly touched the stars she had drawn on her own abdomen, sending off another chain reaction of feelings in her aching muscles.

"And finally, we have the south. What is the great southern constellation, my sweet, sweet Hawke?"

The Champion wracked her brain, trying to ignore the sensations assaulting her from all angles, but could not penetrate the haze enveloping her consciousness. She bit her lower lip again and shook her head.

"Are you sure you don't know?" asked the Rivaini, grinning wickedly and grinding her stomach muscles against her lover. The movement set off another wave of sensations and the Champion whimpered as they dissipated.

"Very well. The south is the flaming bird, the phoenix. I like to call it the Hawk," said the corsair, as she began to draw it on the Fereldan's chest. The outstretched wings spread wide across the fair-skinned woman's breasts, and came together with bright plumage at her sternum, and a sharp beak just above her navel. It seemed like hours had passed in the moonlight, as the Champion clenched her fingers and toes, trying not to cry out at the sensations assaulting her body.

The moments ticked by, each bringing the first mate to a higher plateau of feelings than the one before. Finally, the pirate leaned back and rested one hand on her lover's knee.

"Alright, sweet thing. You can look down now."

Hawke opened her eyes and looked down. An almost perfect replica of the starry sky above had been drawn in silvery glowing ink on her flesh. She could see the shape of the southern phoenix, the bravery of Ser Cristov of the north, and almost feel the enmity between the griffon of the west and the archdemon of the east. She marveled at it, before looking up into the shining amber eyes of the artist.

"They're... beautiful," she said.

"Good. Now you know your directions. That's the first part," said the pirate, crawling up the Champion's body. The Rivaini dragged her full breasts along the her lover's abdomen, noting with delight the reactions elicited from her single nipple ring on the flesh below. She leaned down and kissed the Fereldan savagely, hungrily.

The Champion looked up at her lover after the kiss broke, breathing hard, and couldn't help but notice the burning desire tinged with mischief in the Rivaini's eyes. She knew that look well, and knew that the lesson was far from over.

"Now comes the second part. You see how these heavenly bodies-"

Isabela tweaked Hawke's starred left nipple.

"- show the way, but we lack a bit of crucial information. We need to know where we are, relative to them."

Hawke whimpered a bit as the pirate pulled back and sat up, placing both dusky hands on the Champion's knees.

"So this is where the sextant comes in. You see... what we need to check is how far from the horizon these heavenly bodies are."

The pirate slowly slid her hands down her lover's creamy thighs, and cupped the well-rounded buttocks. She slowly lifted Hawke by her hips, tilting her lower body upward. The dusky corsair smiled, and gently blew down toward the Champion's sex. The effect was maddening.

"Every little bit that the heavenly body is above the horizon line shows about where you are in the world. And you can see just how much a little difference in height matters," teased the pirate, slowly inching Hawke's hips upward.

Hawke tried to raise her hips herself, but she had no leverage. She bucked, but the pirate simply held her steady until she stopped. After she finally gave up, the pirate resumed her gradual ascent those last few inches, before she made contact.

The first swirl of the Rivaini's tongue caused such a strong eruption of pleasure that Hawke could feel every star drawn on her skin explode in a rainbow shower of sensations. The second touch built it even higher, as her entire body spasmed, her muscles contracting and relaxing uncontrollably. The pirate was relentless, and all she could feel was pleasure, pain, fire, ice, heat, chill, agony, ecstasy, and the sight of glowing stars on a moonlit goddess burned into her vision.

She lost track of how long she was there, of how many times she had crested that wave of pleasure only to feel another building for release immediately after. She hadn't even realized she had fallen asleep until the morning sun felt hot against her bare skin.

She awoke to the smell of salty sea air, and the sound of lapping waves. She smacked her lips as she rose, gauging her surroundings. She was alone on deck with nothing in sight but the sun, hanging in the eastern sky. The Champion glanced down, noting the ink had taken on a grayish tinge in the daylight. She ran a hand gently over them, smiling at the memory of the night's sensations.

"I wondered how long you'd sleep," called the captain from above, as she shimmied down the rigging from her perch up the mast.

"With a night like that, I'm surprised I can even stand," replied the first mate.

"So, do you think you understand the basics?" asked the pirate. "You only need to learn the scale after you understand the concepts, and that's easy enough with charts."

"I think I understand," said Hawke, stretching out before flashing an impish grin. "But I think you'd better teach me again tonight, just to be sure."

_finis_.

* * *

><p>Author's Note: Hey everybody. I've been asked a few times if I am continuing this series, and the answer is yes. I realize that it's been almost a year since I posted Eating Lionfish, and the work on the second part continues. Apologies for how long it is taking, the second part is getting close to 16,000 words right now. To give you an idea of roughly how long that is, part 1 is around 14,000 words and it's looking like the whole story combined will be over 30,000. A full novel is about 50,000 words for reference.<p>

That said, the tumblr blog continues to get updates on a regular basis if you need your Isabela fix. You can find that at isabelaexplainsitall dot tumblr dot com. Thanks to all my pre-readers! And a special thanks to Bayn, for providing the idea for this little story. If you have a suggestion for a story and would like me to possibly provide it some verbiage, or wish to help pre-read, feel free to contact me at hoorayforicecream at yahoo dot com, or via PM.

Cheers!


	16. Eating Lionfish, part 2

Eating Lionfish, part 2

by Hoorayforicecream

* * *

><p>"Everything has gone according to plan," laughed the manly baritone voice. The speaker sat in a plush velvet chair, swirling a fine wine in his jeweled goblet before taking a sip. He lazily leaned back, a wide smile reflecting the orange firelight on his shiny, even teeth. "She is mine now, and needs only accept it."<p>

"Are you quite certain of this, du Gaudet?" asked a deep, rasping voice. The hooded figure stood, his back to the fireplace. The shadows covered his face, obscuring all but his thin, bony silhouette. "She has proven herself extraordinarily... resourceful in the past."

Du Gaudet continued to grin as he raised his glass to his companion. "Aye, she has. It's what makes her such a prize. Making her mine will be the crown jewel in my collection of prizes," he laughed.

"And her companions?" asked the shadowed figure, raising one hand to stroke his chin thoughtfully.

"Without her, they are nothing. She is the force that binds them. Once you break the dragon's back, the claws, the teeth, and the fire are no longer a danger."

"Then all that remains is tightening the leash. Do not forget the terms of our arrangement, du Gaudet," rasped the hooded figure. "You may do with her as you please until then, but once she perishes, she belongs to me."

"Oh, I'm sure I'll have my enjoyment from her. You'd be surprised what you can live through," smirked du Gaudet, as he raised his goblet again.

* * *

><p>Hawke looked over the parchment in her hand a second time, to make sure she had read it right. Her emotions swirled inside her, the icy chill running up her spine fought with the rage bubbling up from the bottom of her belly, but she forced herself to be calm.<p>

_To my dearest Champion,_

_I believe I may have come across as overly confrontational at our last meeting. For a partnership as ours, I believe it is important to understand each other's position. I am not an unyielding stone, I do give as well as take. And so, in a show of good faith, I would like to cordially invite you to my Chateau. It is only a day's journey from the City of Chains, and I would like you to familiarize yourself with your future home._

_I understand that you may be somewhat skeptical about the genuineness of my offer, and so I am fully prepared to offer you some fair recompense for accepting my generous offer. Do you remember the jeweled amulet I showed you so recently? I would happily offer you one of the gemstones from it, and all associated benefits in exchange for your presence. I am hosting a grand gala event in two weeks time. Your presence at my manor is required until then. If you don't accept, then I will use the gemstone you have refused for its original intention._

_Best regards,_

_Jean-Claude du Gaudet, Lord of the Brooksmere Valley, Bann of Wildervale, Seneschal of the Viridian Mountain._

She shuddered. The thought of living so closely to du Gaudet made her skin crawl. A sudden, dull pain flared in her jaw as she realized she had been grinding her teeth. She took a deep breath.

The snarl on her face must have been showing. Bodahn, her dwarven majordomo, cringed in the corner and trying very hard not to look conspicuous as he watched her reactions carefully. She clenched her fist, crumpling the letter into a ball, before addressing her valet.

"A messenger brought this?"

"Yes, messere. Not even an hour ago, just dropped it off and went on his way."

Hawke let out her breath slowly, sighing and relaxing her fingers. She looked at Bodahn, resignation obvious on her face, and nodded to him.

"I'll be going out for a few days. An urgent matter requires my attention," she said.

The dwarf looked at her carefully, trying to gauge her mood.

"Messere? Shall I send for your companions to accompany you? The lady Aveline, or perhaps Captain Isabela?"

"No, Bodahn. I'll be going alone this time," she said with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

"Right, then. I'll just keep the manor for you the way you like it. We'll await your return, messere."

Hawke nodded, and went to gather her things.

* * *

><p>Isabela scowled into the bottom of her cup. Unlike her usual reason for scowling, the cup was not empty. She had a dilemma, and her usual solutions were inapplicable. She took a sip of the bitter liquid and rolled it around on her tongue.<p>

Hawke needed help.

She took another mouthful from her cup, gargling with it a bit before swallowing. The normally-pleasant burn as it traveled down her throat felt irritating, rather than reassuring. She turned the situation over and over again in her head. There had to be a solution to it.

Hawke needed _her_ help.

She finished the last of the whiskey from her cup, feeling it travel down her gullet and through her chest, burning all the way. Corff looked at her and raised an eyebrow, but she waved him off.

"Not today, my friend."

She stood and stretched, feeling her warmed blood flow through her arms and legs while ignoring the appreciative glances thrown her way by the other tavern patrons.

It had become common knowledge that the pirate had taken up with the Champion, but there was also a prevailing rumor that a third party could get invited to their bed should the lucky hopeful obtain blessings from both women. None of the attempts to woo both had yet been successful, but that had not dissuaded a myriad of optimists from endeavoring to try.

A pretty young woman gathered her courage and took a breath, trying to calm her nerves. Becoming the Champion's lover would mean prosperity for her family, and she had heard rumors that the sea captain would take practically anything to her bed. The youthful blonde put on her most winsome smile and approached the dusky corsair.

Isabela heard the movement behind her and turned to face her.

The girl froze as she saw the ice in the pirate's stare. Her blood turned to sludge in her veins as her smile vanished from her face. She involuntarily stepped back, a wave of fear washing over her as she took in the baleful look in the captain's eyes.

A murmur rippled through the patrons, as the buccaneer sniffed and turned toward the back of the establishment. The snubbed young woman sank into the nearest chair and hastily raised the nearest tankard in her trembling hands in a desperate attempt to purge the sight from her memory.

"Captain Isabela!" called out a male voice.

Her glorious boots stopped, as she focused golden eyes on the caller. A harried-looking dwarf in a fine velvet waistcoat stood near the entrance, breathing heavily. He looked like he had been running.

"Bodahn, Hawke isn't here," she replied, waving him away.

"I know, messere. I came looking for you," panted the dwarf. He doubled over, hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath.

"Messere Hawke just left the manor, said something about leaving for a few days and being back later," he added. He didn't see much, but he heard the staccato sound of rapid footsteps approaching. He looked up to see the pirate looming over him with a frown on her face and a look in her eye that brooked no nonsense. He swallowed as she grasped him by the collar and hauled his face up toward hers.

"Tell me _everything_," she demanded.

* * *

><p>"We're here, Champion," called the driver as he halted the horses. He stepped down from his perch above the carriage and opened the door with a deep bow.<p>

Hawke stepped out of the coach and shielded her eyes from the setting sun as she surveyed her new surroundings. Chateau du Gaudet was a massive undertaking of craftsmanship. The walls were made of smooth, smoky marble that stretched three floors up. Dark ceramic shingles decorated the roof around several chimneys that were gently smoking in the late afternoon air. The cavernous mansion would have looked much more foreboding, had there not been a steady stream of servants entering and leaving the chateau's side entrance, each carrying boxes and materials from the small fleet of wagons laden with sundries. The Champion strolled down the stone walkway from the gate to the massive wooden double doors to the manor. Two liveried servants in green and gold bowed before her, pulling the doors open and allowing her to enter. A plain-looking man with chestnut hair that was streaked with grey stood to meet her.

The thin, lanky man looked her over with shrewd brown eyes as he placed his hands on his belt. He was easily a head taller than everyone else. He wore a plain white linen tunic above brown leather pants that highlighted his bony features, and long boots that looked like they had traveled far and wide. Hawke's eyes lingered on his heavily callused hands, and the battered-looking sword at his hip. He nodded to her.

"Well, if it ain't the Champion of Kirkwall. His lordship will be pleased to see you're here," he drawled. "Please come this way."

The entryway was enormous. Great stone pillars rose from the marble tiled floors to the vaulted ceilings. Suits of armor polished to a mirror sheen dotted the walls, as the occasional servant scurried by, intent on some pressing task. They would each bow as the Fereldan passed, before resuming their duties.

"And who might you be?" asked Hawke, as she walked with him.

"You can call me Nolan. Everybody does. Ah help out around the estate, odd jobs mostly. Bit of this and that. His lordship says Ah'm a real handy man," he said. "He's been looking forward to your visit quite a lot, so forgive him if he's a bit over-excited."

"I don't recognize your accent."

"It's just a little of this, a little of that. Ah reckon I've been just about all over Thedas doin' odd jobs fer folks," he said.

"What kind of odd jobs?"

"Whatever needs doin'. I fix problems, is all."

The lanky man fell silent as they approached the great hall. The barrel-chested lord of the manor stood with his back to them, directing servants. A pretty young maid of about fifteen in green and gold livery brought a platter with several goblets and a decanter of wine. He idly took one and she filled it for him. He sipped it, before pointing and telling a workman where to place the decorations.

"Your lordship, the Champion of Kirkwall's here to see you," announced Nolan, inclining his head toward the nobleman.

Lord du Gaudet turned and broke into a wide smile.

"Champion, so lovely to see you. I have been awaiting this day. Please, please, make yourself at home," he said, gesturing to the manor.

"Your request said it was urgent that I come," Hawke said a bit stiffly. "You offered a bargain, and I am here to collect."

"Of course, of course. Anything at my disposal is yours. You must be tired from your journey. Please, enjoy some refreshments while I show you the preparations for the gala in a week's time."

The young maid carrying the wine stared at the Champion with wide eyes. Spots of color bloomed on her cheeks.

Lord du Gaudet looked at her with annoyance. The smile vanished from his face, as he snapped his fingers in front of the mesmerized serving girl's face.

"Do not embarrass me like this, servant," he growled at her, his face nearly contorted with rage.

She stumbled toward Hawke, startled, and lost her grip on the platter. The crystal decanter and goblets fell to the tiled floor, shattering and splashing the red liquid contents across the smooth tile. The wine splashed a bit onto Hawke's right foot before she could step back.

"You worthless ingrate!" shouted the livid nobleman. "The Champion's visit is supposed to be _perfect_! You miserable failure!"

"It's alright, Ser du Gaudet," soothed Hawke. "It's not her fault, and it's really not cause for alarm."

Another servant appeared and whispered something in Nolan's ear. He cleared his throat loudly.

"Your lordship, somethin's come up on the grounds. Ah'll be takin' my leave if you don't mind. If you like, Ah can take Nicola here for discipline while Ah'm tendin' to that business," the tall man suggested.

"It's really alright, no harm done," assured Hawke.

The nobleman nodded to the tall man, and his smile returned.

"Don't trouble yourself with that, my dear. The servants just need a firm hand, is all," he said, clapping his hands loudly. Another serving maid scurried off to retrieve more refreshments.

"Come," he continued. "Allow me to show you the preparations."

Hawke moved to follow him, but glanced behind her at the dejected form of the serving girl following the lanky man from the room. The feeling of unease in her chest began to grow.

* * *

><p>Isabela looked down at her traveling companion and groaned. The chestnut mare briefly flicked one eye back at her as it trotted briskly down the dusty road.<p>

"Don't look at me like that," she grumbled as she tried to find a more comfortable sitting position. She gripped the animal awkwardly with her legs, while one hand tightly gripped the saddle horn, and the other held onto the reins.

"Bloody horses... if I wanted a big, sweaty creature between my legs, I'd have gotten Hawke. At least then the ride would be a lot more fun."

The horse ignored her words as it crested the next hill. The pirate shielded her eyes from the afternoon sun, as she spotted the small dust cloud in the distance of a horse-drawn carriage pulling through the gate surrounding a large manor house . She snapped the reins, directing the mare to a nearby tree and dismounted.

"Be good while I'm gone. I think I'll walk the rest of the way to loosen up," she muttered to the horse as she loosely tied the leather straps to a low-hanging branch. She stretched for a moment, limbering up her muscles, before gingerly rubbing her thighs and rear again.

"Bloody horses..." she cursed as she walked toward the manor.

The pirate approached cautiously, spending time to observe the patterns of the servants entering and exiting the rectory from her vantage point in the trees. There were a few guards, but they didn't look particularly well trained. With a little encouragement, they might be persuaded to look the other way.

She observed a few more moments before she made her move. She slipped from the trees and followed a maid of about her height and build to one of the wagons, and quietly overpowered her by clapping one hand over the surprised woman's mouth, while twisting the maid's arm painfully at the wrist.

"I'm sorry, my lovely, but I really must get inside. If you don't wish to be hurt, you'll cease your struggles and be silent. Screaming will be much worse for you than it will for me," she whispered gently to her victim. The poor maid looked at her with frightened eyes, but didn't make a sound as Isabela lowered her hand.

"Are... are you going to kill me?" whispered the terrified maid.

"No, my dear. I'm not going to kill you," sighed Isabela. "I need to borrow your uniform for a bit. My friend is a prisoner in the chateau, and I need a way to get her out."

"Ah wouldn't be doin' that if ah were you," a masculine voice warned.

The pirate froze, her hand already extended toward the serving girl's bonnet. She turned to see a tall, thin man in workman's leathers. He stood in a relaxed stance, scratching at his chin while observing with a slightly curious expression on his face. He had a curved blade at his belt. The handle and crossguard looked old and battered, but the canny buccaneer could recognize a silverite blade when she saw it.

"And here I thought the dancing wasn't until later," remarked the pirate, unslinging her blades from her back.

"Don't say ah didn't warn you," the man said with a shrug. He unbuckled the strap holding his blade in its sheath, laying one callused palm on the sword handle. He glanced at the trembling maid to reassure her. The momentary distraction spurred the corsair into action.

Isabela wasted no time propelling herself toward the lanky man. She covered the short distance between them in the blink of an eye, and lunged blade-first at him.

The serving girl gasped as the sound of metal on metal rang in her ears.

The pirate's blade had been blocked by the lanky man's weapon. She spared it a quick glance, and grimaced. Her opponent wielded a long notched sword-breaker. Like a single-edged sword, the reverse side had wicked-looking grooves with little metal teeth carved into it to catch enemy weapons. Only a bit of lateral force would be enough to wrench her dagger from her hands if those teeth caught.

The tall man gave an almost-imperceptible shrug as he whipped his wrist to one side and tore her dagger out of her grip. It clattered to the dusty ground with a small bump.

"Ah don't really want to kill you. Why don't you just give up?" he suggested reasonably as he moved to block the path to the fallen weapon.

Isabela leaped back and quickly transferred her remaining blade to her primary hand. She adjusted her stance a bit, rebalancing herself for the missing weight of her second weapon.

"It's only just begun to get interesting," she said with a smile. She dashed in again, this time going low with her remaining dagger.

The tall man moved to parry the blow like he had done the first, but his eyes widened in surprise. Rather than catching her weapon in the teeth again, she had turned her weapon sideways and caught the flat of her blade against it. He looked back at her just in time to see the smug grin on her face as the corsair hurled a needle-sharp spike at his chest with her off-hand.

He threw himself to one side to avoid the projectile. Unable to fully dodge, he spun and took it in his free arm. It took only a moment to reestablish his guard, but a moment was all Isabela needed to launch past him and grab her fallen dagger.

She locked eyes with him as she rose, both weapons extended.

"Looks like you're a bit tougher than the usual sorts ah need to deal with," he said affably before grabbing the spike and pulling it out of his arm. "Reckon ah oughta get serious then."

The pirate rushed at him again, threatening with both weapons, but this time he was ready. He stepped forward to meet her, parrying her first attack with the swordbreaker, and blocking her second with a curve-bladed hand axe he had drawn from a belt loop. Isabela held her charge a moment longer, challenging him to continue pressing against her.

He did not back down, though he narrowed his eyes as he looked at her.

She grinned, stepped back, and let go, using the momentum to spin her in a circle. She rotated with the movement and kicked him squarely in the ribs, before dancing back.

The tall man gave a grunt of pain, before standing again in a guard stance, both weapons at the ready.

She watched him carefully, wondering if he would say anything.

He didn't. Instead, he rushed toward her almost as quickly as she had gone after him.

She deflected the lanky man's hand axe on her right, then caught his swordbreaker on her pauldron as it came down, hoping that the red iron wouldn't break. She tried to slide in closer to bring her blades to bear, but a white-hot flash of pain stopped her forward momentum as the man raked his axe across her left arm.

He continued his relentless assault as blow after blow was parried or deflected. Isabela had only been struck once, but she was losing ground as their clashing weapons rang in the afternoon sun. He finally swung one mightly attack and drove her back several steps, forcing her to dance away out of range.

"You'd best be gettin' along. The guards will likely be here soon," the man said, nonchalant. "Ah could tussle with you a bit longer if you like, but the longer you wait, the harder it'll be for you."

The corsair quickly glanced over the man's shoulder and realized that the maid had run off. Worse yet, she could hear the telltale sound of marching boots in the distance. She glanced down momentarily at her fingers. They were already beginning to feel numb, the effect from gripping her blades harder to keep them from being yanked out of her hands by the swordbreaker, and from absorbing the force of his blows a moment before.

"This isn't over," she said, carefully backing away toward the tree line.

"Ah didn't think it would be," he replied, shrugging. He began whistling a merry tune as he sheathed his weapons and turned toward the manor, knowing full well she had already disappeared.

* * *

><p>The Champion awoke to the sound of thunder. She pushed back the comforter and stretched, rubbing her left shoulder. She reflexively reached to her left, but where her hand expected to find a warm, still-sleeping woman, she found only silken sheets. She sighed as she turned to look out the window. The leafy trees obscured her view, and the darkened sky caused the room to look every bit as dreary as she felt. The steady rain made the room feel cold, despite the presence of the glowing coals in the bed warmer.<p>

Hawke brought one hand up to her throat, feeling her new golden choker. A single emerald was set in the center, and she felt the tingle of magical power as her finger traced the hard, square gemstone set in the golden necklace. The lord of the manor had been true to his word. She had watched him pluck the jewel from his own amulet, and place it in the choker she now wore. As long as she had it, he would be unable to use it to kill. He had three others set in that amulet, keyed in on blood magic and ready to release their deadly payload in the city.

The Champion sighed. She shook her head, willing herself to remain positive. She'd think of something. She had to.

The oaken door creaked as it opened, followed by soft, tentative steps against the stone floor and rug. Hawke glanced over her shoulder at the entrant, smiling when she realized who it was. It was the same wide-eyed serving maid who she had met the day before in the grand ballroom. She waved the maiden in and rose from the bed to greet her.

The young woman carried a silver tray laden with a matching porcelain teapot, teacup, a small jar, and a lidded bowl. She glanced from Hawke's icy blue eyes to the tray, and nervously kept her eyes down. Her brown hair was done up in a bun on the back of her head, and her hands trembled a bit as she set the tray down on a small table. The maid bowed to the Champion before turning to leave.

"Wait a moment," called Hawke, reaching out to the nervous young woman.

The girl halted at the door, trembling slightly.

"You're... Nicola, right? The girl from yesterday?"

The maid nodded nervously, taking care not to make eye contact. Instead, she continued to look down at her shoes.

The Champion approached the uniformed girl, padding across the rug silently.

"Can you answer a few questions for me about this place? I've only just arrived."

The maid looked at Hawke's face in fear before dropping her gaze again. She seemed terrified.

The lanky Fereldan woman reached to touch the girl on her shoulder in a reassuring manner, but the young woman pulled back.

"There's nothing to be afraid of, Nicola. I'm not going to eat you," promised the Champion. "We've only just met."

The girl's trembles slowed a bit as she raised her head to look at Hawke. Her eyes were filled with curiosity, but still exhibited a healthy amount of fear. She flinched a bit when Hawke touched her shoulder, but the hand was warm and inviting. The maid nodded, then relaxed a bit.

"Perhaps some tea, then? I'll tell you about me, and you can tell me about you," said Hawke.

Nicola's eyes looked down. She sighed sadly.

"Not a fan of tea, hm? Let's see what else we have here," said Hawke briskly, pulling back the lid of the bowl. She smiled when she saw a large dollop fresh yogurt, mixed with a variety of ripe and colorful berries before her.

The young woman's stomach gurgled at the sight. She blushed, looking embarrassed.

"I see this seems to be a bit more attractive than the tea. Would you like to share it with me?"

The maid looked at her questioningly.

"You... can't speak, can you?" asked the Champion.

The maid shook her head, sadly.

Hawke patted her gently on the shoulder. "Thankfully, you needn't speak to eat. I'll have a bit of that tea, and you can try this out and let me know if it is tasty," she said with a smile.

The Champion sat in silence for a moment, sipping the hot tea and watching the girl hurriedly enjoying the breakfast.

"Would you like to hear about why I am here?" Hawke asked.

Nicola paused, her spoonful of blackberry and yogurt halfway to her mouth. She looked unsure of herself, as if unable to decide between hearing a story, or finishing the breakfast.

"You can keep eating while I tell you," Hawke said with a smile.

The maid nodded vigorously and ate a little slower, watching Hawke with deep brown eyes as the Champion began recounting the tale of the events leading her to du Gaudet's mansion.

* * *

><p>"You've gotta be shittin' me, Rivaini!" Varric exclaimed, as he slammed his tankard down on the table. The contents of his mug splashed out, leaving small flecks of foam on the aged oak. The dwarf slumped in his high-backed chair, exhaling loudly. "I've heard some pretty tall tales in my time, and even told a few myself, but this?"<p>

"It's true," replied the pirate simply.

"Let me get this straight. That smug son of a bitch nobleman is the one behind the disappearances of the ladies of the Blooming Rose," began the dwarf.

"Yes," nodded Isabela.

"The same son of a bitch has somehow gotten possession of three more canisters of that Qunari poison that killed a lot of innocent people," continued Varric, drumming his fingers on the table.

"He's using some sort of blood magic to activate the poison gas!" added Merrill helpfully.

"He's holding the city hostage to force Hawke to do whatever he wants," sighed Aveline, crossing her arms and scowling.

"And even if we could talk to her, which we can't, if we tell Hawke or act on what we know and that villain finds out, hundreds of innocent people will die," sighed Sebastian.

"Shit," Varric cursed in summation. "That son of a nughumper has really got us by the short and curlies."

"Forcing Hawke to act the slave," growled Fenris, clenching one fist. "We cannot let this stand."

"You've got a plan, don't you Isabela? You must have a plan," piped Merrill.

"I do," nodded the corsair, standing up.

"Now just wait a moment," interjected Aveline. "Why would we follow orders from the washed-up whore? Some of us have actual leadership experience that _doesn't_ involve taking our clothes off."

"Right, we should follow things by the law and the rulebook like Madame Muscles wishes," mocked Isabela. "What messere Man-Chin doesn't realize is that the bastard will be watching for that. He's been a member of the Viscount's court for _years_ now. Do you honestly think he hasn't paid attention to how the guards and the law in Kirkwall work?"

"Be that as it may, I've got plenty of experience bringing criminals to justice. My guardsmen and I-," began the armored woman.

"If you lead the charge, he'll see _and hear_ it coming from a mile away. Mobilizing the guard is the _last_ thing Hawke needs. I've seen his keep. If you bring your guardsmen into this, all that will happen will be a protracted siege, culminating in him detonating the poison and a lot of dead Marchers. We need someone who can do things unexpected and with subtlety," interrupted Isabela. She casually tossed a small leather bag at Aveline.

The redhead snatched the bag out of the air and her face darkened as she realized it was her own coin purse.

"Stealing from me while I'm distracted doesn't prove anything!"

"Varric is just as sneaky and underhanded as Isabela. Why not listen to him?" offered Anders.

"Oh no, Blondie. I'm not cut out for leadership. I write the stories, I don't star in them. I deferred to Bartrand when we entered the Deep Roads, and I defer to Hawke when we're out on our grand adventures. I'm the type who spots talent, not the one who gives orders," said Varric, raising both hands. His grin grew sly."That said, Rivaini _has_ had a lot of men under her. Clothed, even. While at sea. We could at least _listen_ to what she has to say."

"She does know Hawke a lot better than the rest of us," mused Sebastian.

"More often, too," murmured Isabela to herself. She cleared her throat, before continuing. "Regardless of your feelings toward me, think about Hawke. Think about what sort of position she's in. She's got such a soft heart that it would kill her to know that even more innocent people died because of her."

Aveline's glare softened, and she took her seat again. Anders looked like he wanted to say something for a moment, but sighed and nodded his head. He then motioned for the pirate to continue.

"I know how to think like a rogue. This blighter has been one step ahead of Hawke the entire way, and playing catch up won't work. What we need to do is to get ahead of him," she said.

"How are we to do that?" asked Merrill, chewing her lower lip.

"Kitten, what was the first lesson I taught you about cheating at cards?" asked the corsair.

"That she's terrible at it?" muttered Fenris.

"Misdirection," recounted the blood mage. "You need to distract them so they don't see you cheating."

"Very good, Kitten. I've worked out a plan, and I'll need all of you to do it," Isabela nodded, glancing at each person at the table.

The other members of the group exchanged glances, finally looking at Aveline and Anders.

"I hope Hawke's planning skills are as contagious as those diseases of yours," muttered Anders.

"I still don't like it. We can't just leave Hawke's life and the lives of hundreds to some half-cocked _scheme_," grunted the ginger warrior. She glared at Isabela.

The pirate met her gaze, and they stared at each other for a long moment. Aveline blinked first, surprised. There was no joke, no merriment in Isabela's amber eyes like there usually was. There wasn't even any of the sea captain's usual bravado or swagger. All the peace officer saw in the corsair's eyes was grim determination with a hard edge the Fereldan woman rarely saw from the pirate. Aveline sighed, louder this time.

"Let's hear it, whore. What would you have us do?" asked the armored amazon.

"I'm glad you asked," said the pirate with a wicked-looking smirk, as she began unrolling a map.

* * *

><p>The Champion woke with a yawn. She rubbed her eyes gently as she rose from the bed, looking at the smiling maid at her door.<p>

"Good morning, Nicola. Are you doing well today?" asked the Fereldan.

The maid nodded vigorously before placing the covered silver tray on a small table. She quickly pulled the covers back, and laid out a deep blue velvet gown onto the bed.

Hawke glanced at the dress, and sighed. The serving girl touched her arm, a questioning look on her face. The Champion shook her head and stepped behind the Orlesian dressing screen to change her clothes. It had been only two days since she had arrived, and she had waited nervously for something, anything to happen.

Each day, the lord of the manor would spend the morning overseeing issues from his vassals, and directing the preparations for the ball. She would be required to join him for lunch, where he treated her with civility, but always with an undertone of possessiveness. The afternoons were spent walking the grounds, where he would show her the various parts of the land he owned, and the evenings were spent similarly, idly conversing about Kirkwall politics or economics. Hawke had adamantly refused to divulge any information about her friends. Whenever du Gaudet was rebuffed, he simply laughed. He wouldn't press the matter, and just changed the subject of the conversation each time to something else.

Instead, the Champion mentally gathered as much information as she could from the walks on the grounds. She memorized the patterns of the guards, noting when they changed shifts and all of their specific posts, and paid attention to the way the guards and servants interacted. The guards were mercenaries, she discovered, who thought themselves better than the men and women who performed the day-to-day duties of maintaining the manor. Of particular interest was the cavernous hallway that the servants clearly avoided. The guards patrolled it, but the attendants always gave it a wide berth. Hawke wondered what was in that mysterious corridor.

Hawke had enjoyed the mornings most. Nicola had been as helpful as she could. The young maid had provided her with maps of the grounds, and answered her questions to the best of her ability, but was unable to provide any insight into the enigmatic east wing. Nicola loved hearing the Champion's stories. From the events leading to her to the mansion to her desperate flight from Lothering, the serving girl had listened with rapt attention.

"I wonder what's for breakfast today?" asked Hawke as she sat at the small table.

Nicola pulled the silver platter cover back, revealing three sunny-side-up eggs, fried potatoes, and a generous helping of bacon. She smiled and began pouring orange juice from a crystal decanter into a pair of goblets.

"It smells lovely," said Hawke. "What story shall I tell you today? The time I went into the Deep Roads? The time I was hunted by a Nevarran dragon hunter? Or the time that a simple treasure hunt led to me almost being buried underground?"

Nicola shook her head at each of the suggested tales while chewing a mouthful of bacon. The maid brought both hands to the sides of her head, making fake horn shapes with her fingers, then made chopping motions with her hands.

"Oh, so you want to hear how I became Champion. The tale of the Qunari attack. Is that it?"

The maid nodded.

"Well, it all began when I met a gorgeous pirate captain from Rivain... or so she said. She had skin the color of bronze and lips like the smoothest chocolate, but the thing I remember most about her were those stunning amber eyes. They were full of fun, confidence, and more than a little mischief," Hawke began, leaning back in her chair. She smiled as she continued.

"She offered me her services in exchange for my help... she was looking for an ancient relic somewhere in the city, and she needed someone to watch her back. In return, she'd lend her blades to my cause, whatever that might be. Little did I know that what had started with a simple business arrangement would become something... different."

The girl's eyes widened in recognition. She raised one hand and looked as if she were about to say something, when a knock came from the door.

The heavy oaken door swung inward, and Nolan entered the room. He looked a bit uncomfortable, and scratched at his neck nervously.

"Beggin' your pardon, your ladyship, but his lordship requires your presence," he announced.

The Champion took a moment to glance at Nicola, then back at Nolan.

"Ah believe he meant immediately, your ladyship," he clarified, holding the door open.

"I'll be right back, Nicola," the Fereldan said with a smile, plucking one of the bacon strips from the tray and popping it into her mouth.

She walked silently behind the gangly man through the hallway, past the suits of armor and oil paintings decorating the walls.

"What's all this about?" she asked.

"Ain't my place to say, your ladyship. Ah just know he's with one of his liege men and requires your presence," replied Nolan.

They passed through the great hall, and toward a carpeted room just adjacent to the ballroom where a small group of finely-dressed men and women stood. The mood was somber, and Hawke could practically taste the fear in the air. The gathered nobles exchanged nervous glances, some quietly whispering amongst themselves as they recognized her.

"Come on, your ladyship. He's expecting us."

She followed him into the office, where an old man in a garish orange doublet and a bald head was bowing and apologizing to Lord du Gaudet.

The room itself looked imposing. The walls were lined with shelf upon shelf of leather-bound books and tomes, and the largest bear skin rug Hawke had ever seen covered the floor. A pair of preserved dire wolves stood in silent vigil on each side of the tall fireplace that held a crackling fire. The heads of several dangerous animals were mounted above the hearth - a dragon and a wyvern bared fangs in a permanent, silent snarl. Mounted on the walls were several vicious-looking exotic weapons each with its own set of nasty barbs and hooks.

"... There's nothing I can do, milord! My family needs those prize steers to bring them to market! If I give them to you, we won't have enough coin to buy grain for the winter, or pay our ranch hands! Please milord, I'd be happy to provide you with plenty of other prime animals for your banquet. Just don't take the prize steers!" beseeched the balding man. He bowed and scraped before du Gaudet, clearly hoping for clemency.

The lord of the manor sat behind a large wooden desk that had been carved to look as if crying slaves were holding it up. His only acknowledgement of the Champion's entrance was a single cocked eyebrow. He listened intently to the supplicant. When the petitioner finally finished and looked to him for a response, he steepled his fingers and looked directly at the old man.

"Ser Adel, do you remember the oaths you swore to me when I inherited my title?"

"Y... yes, milord. I swore to serve you and your family loyally, and you swore to protect and to rule us fairly," Adel answered.

"Good. When your lands were assaulted by bandits last spring, who was it who summoned armed guards to drive them away?"

"Y.. you did, milord."

"Excellent. And have you been ruled fairly? Have I asked for more of you, in taxes or tribute, than I have of any of my other vassals?"

"N-no, milord. You have not."

"And Ser Adel... did you not say, months ago, that you would provide your finest livestock for our little celebration?"

"But Lord du Gaudet, the growing season has been terrible this year! We'll have no food for this winter!"

"Ser Adel, I would like you to meet someone," announced the nobleman, gesturing toward Hawke. "I'm sure you recognize her."

The old man turned toward Hawke, and the color drained from his face.

"Th-the Champion of Kirkwall?!" he stammered. "I... I..."

"As I said, the Champion is my honored guest. I'm sure you would never wish to _disappoint_ someone with such an esteemed reputation," du Gaudet mused aloud.

"N-no, milord," replied Adel, his shoulders slumping in defeat.

"So you will honor our agreement, will you not?"

"Y-yes, milord. I'm sorry, milord," said the elderly man.

"Good. If we do not honor our agreements, we're little more than animals."

The dejected man slunk out of the room silently, while the lord turned to face the Champion. He broke into a large grin.

"Good morning, Champion. I'm glad you could join me," he said.

"Just... what was all that?" asked Hawke warily.

"Simply insuring that my liegemen fulfill their sworn duties, of course."

"And my involvement?" continued the Champion.

"It's quite simple, really. You are likely the most dangerous and fearsome slayer of man and beast alive. You are here at my pleasure, and it is useful to me that they know how far my reach extends."

"You can't seriously believe that I would just agree to become your enforcer. I'd never do that!" Hawke retorted, furrowing her brow.

"Wouldn't you, my Champion? How many innocent lives would it take to convince you otherwise? A dozen? A hundred? All I am asking for is for these men and women to honor agreements and oaths already made, nothing more. If their oaths of fealty to me will not straighten their spines, the threat of force may be necessary."

The lord of the manor stood, and Hawke's gaze was drawn sharply to the burnished amulet around his neck. The remaining three gemstones sparkled in the firelight. As he looked at her with grim determination, all traces of smile had vanished from his face.

"Make no mistake, Champion. Regardless of whether it is the carrot or the stick that I employ, those who are beholden to me _will_ know their place. It is at _my_ pleasure that they serve, and it would do well for them to remember that," he said. His expression changed, and the smile returned as quickly as it had departed. "Now, shall we take our meal outside today? I wish to show you the lake on the grounds."

* * *

><p>"We've managed to find one of the canisters," Anders announced. "You were right about its location; Aveline and I found it in the rafters at the Chantry. That's the good news."<p>

"Well, that's wonderful!" chirped Merrill.

The pirate captain narrowed her eyes.

"This seems a little too easy," she said, furrowing her brow. "What's the bad news?"

Anders glanced at Aveline before replying. "We can't move it and we can't disarm it. If we do, we'll trigger the poison early."

Isabela pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. "That's more like it. If it was too easy, he'd never have been this confident about blackmailing Hawke. Varric, tell us about the anti-tampering device. I take it that you weren't able to disarm it."

"I've gone over the thing with a fine-toothed comb, and believe you me, climbing to the top of a tall ladder, even one held steady by Aveline, is not an experience I'd care to repeat. That thing isn't mechanical. There's no hole, no panel, no port. No tripwire to cut, no counterweight to secure, and no spring to weigh down. The only thing in that thing looks like a series of grooves all leading to some sort of indentation... like something's meant to go there," grumbled Varric.

"It's blood magic, isn't it?" the pirate mused aloud.

"How did you know that?" asked Anders.

"A while ago, Hawke and I came across a similar trap in an ancient dungeon. There was some fighting, and she tried to kill me for a bit, but then she got better."

"She tried t' _kill_ you?" asked Sebastian.

"Oh, it seems to happen to all of my lovers eventually," replied the pirate, shrugging. "She _did_ get better, and, as you can see, I'm not dead. It all worked out in the end. The _point_ was that we found a device that sounds similar to this. It was an ancient trap that channeled blood and lyrium through these grooves in the walls, and brought them to some sort of focusing gemstone."

"And what did you do to this thing?" asked Aveline.

"I smashed it," said the corsair with a smirk.

"Of course you did," sighed the guardswoman.

"The important thing is that it's blood magic. We can all thank Andraste's soiled white granny panties that we've got our very own blood mage who can tell us about it," replied the pirate, leaning back in her chair.

"It certainly _sounds_ like blood magic. The grooves are there for the blood to flow to the channeling stone. That's what's missing, you know. The channeling stone is what you'd place into the indentation that Varric mentioned. All of the lyrium and blood would flow into it, but that would all be raw energy." Merrill chewed her lip in thought before continuing. "You'd need a lot of energy, in order to make sure that it would be controlled from such a large distance, but it would require precision. Like when Aveline pokes something with her sword instead of punching it. It's the same amount of strength, but all of that energy is focused into the tip of the blade instead of spread out through her knuckles."

"I do not _poke_!"

"That must be what the channeling stone is for. Focus all the energy from the blood, make it do what they needed. But you'd need something special, something that could contain all of that energy," mused Anders, stroking his chin as he thought aloud. "It would need to be small enough to conceal. But for something to be that small and yet able to channel that much power..."

"It would have to be an item from a creature. Something with great vitality, crystallized down to the purest form," Merrill added, sounding excited. "A great creature, with great strength... probably a mighty hunter, in order to add even more energy into it."

One mage looked at the other as recognition dawned on both of their faces simultaneously.

"A wyvern's bezoar!" they both exclaimed together.

"For those of us who don't speak mage, what on earth is a wyvern's bezoar?" asked Varric, scratching his temple.

"It's like... a bit of something that gets caught in a creature's digestive system, or gullet. Usually they're digested or passed, but, very rarely, they stay inside the creature for years, soaking up and absorbing bits and pieces of the creature and everything around it," answered Anders.

"The result is found when the creature's life ends. It ends up being a hard, rock-like thing, but it isn't just a rock. It's got so much life energy that's been put into it over the years that if you channel magical energy into it at all... lyrium, blood, mana, anything, it lights up like a thousand candles. Bezoars of all types have been used in many legendary incantations in the past, but something like this must require something with a tremendous amount of life energy," added Merrill.

"Then that's it," declared Fenris. "We just need to find one of the bloody things."

"How d'you suppose we find one?" asked Sebastian. "Do we just pack up and find a wyvern to kill?"

"It isn't that easy," cautioned Anders. "Not every wyvern has a bezoar. They're incredibly rare. I can't even begin to imagine where we might find one."

"We're also pressed for time," said Aveline. "Remember, every moment we chase this thing is a moment Hawke remains in du Gaudet's clutches."

"It sure seems to be a real conundrum," sighed Varric. "This is usually to be the part where Hawke comes up with some crazy scheme that's just crazy enough to work."

The room was deathly quiet for a moment.

"I've got a plan," declared the pirate, breaking the silence.

"I'm ready to listen to just about anything at this point," groaned Aveline. "Even if the plan is just 'not enough whiskey.'"

"I'll take care of the wyvern's bezoar. In the meantime, the rest of you keep searching for the other canisters. It won't help when I bring the thing and we still have the threat hanging over our heads like storm clouds on the horizon," the corsair declared.

"How will you find it?" asked Merrill.

"Come now, Kitten. Finding rare artifacts and making off with them is what I do best," replied the sea captain with a wink.

* * *

><p>The woman leaned back in her plush chair and sipped the wine in her jeweled goblet. The moonlight filtered gently into the room through the drawn curtains. A cozy fire crackled merrily in the hearth as she flipped the next page in a heavy, leather-bound tome. She could hear scuffling sounds through the large, oaken door but paid them no heed. Muffled shouts and screams occasionally interrupted the steady hissing and popping of the fire.<p>

She sighed as she swirled the contents of her goblet before taking another sip. The liquor was sweet, but pleasantly burned as it went down her throat. She smiled a bit as the she continued to read the book, paying little attention to the noises coming from beyond the door. She didn't even look up when the door itself shook, as if something (or someone) heavy had been slammed into it. The heavy wooden door creaked as it opened inward. A man in armor fell backwards through the entrance onto the rug, groaning and clutching his privates.

The woman sighed, and placed a pink, silk ribbon in the book to mark her place, and carefully closed it. She looked up as the invader entered the room, stepping over the fallen man as if he were nothing.

The dark-skinned invader stood in the entryway, fists planted on her hips. Her white tunic was generously spattered with crimson blood, though none of it was apparently hers. She grinned.

"Can't you just make an appointment like the normal people who come to visit me?" asked the woman in the chair, setting her book on a carved wooden table.

"The last time we spoke wasn't exactly under the friendliest terms," replied the captain. "How was I to know you wouldn't just run away like the last time?"

"I'll be honest," said the sitting woman. "The thought had crossed my mind. Did you leave any of my men alive?"

"Most of them, I think. You don't employ a particularly brave bunch," said the pirate with a shrug.

"Now that the pleasantries are taken care of, perhaps you could tell me just why you're here," asked the woman.

"The answer is simple, Athenril. I'm looking for something, and _you_ are going to help me find it."

* * *

><p><em>Author's Note: I truly apologize for how long it's been. I've been grappling with the details of this story (which originally all stemmed from a single mental image that I <strong>still<strong> haven't written yet) for a long, long time. I hope that some of you are all still interested in what happens next. A tremendous thanks to the inestimable suziegon, a loyal reader who PMed me and actually reminded me that there are some of you faithful readers out there who still very much would like to know what happens next. You can thank her for this story actually making it into the wild. I hope I have not disappointed too much._

_Believe it or not, the story is still continuing. I've got about 9,000 more words written or so, and (yes, I know) the story is still not quite finished. It's coming together, I just need to get the details of each scene straight. I've got... maybe three scenes left to write, I think, and the final chapter can go to the pre-readers, whom I love dearly and thank profusely._

_If you are still looking for Isabela-related tales and adventures, I heartily suggest visiting her tumblr at isabelaexplainsitall dot tumblr dot com. If you have any comments, suggestions, or story ideas you'd like to see, please send them to hoorayforicecream at yahoo dot com._

_Hope you enjoy the tale. Cheers._


	17. Eating Lionfish, part 3

Eating Lionfish, part 3

by Hoorayforicecream

Athenril walked calmly past the hulking guards and into the dockside warehouse. It was an old building that looked like it had seen better days. Although it hadn't been touched during the Qunari attack, the structure had fallen into some disrepair. The scent of mold and mildew added a distinct aroma to the stale air. However, there were other things to interest her besides foul smells and abandoned cargo.

The building housed a large, iron cage, inside which two women were doing their best to kill each other. The two warriors each had their faces hidden behind elaborate ceramic masks, but wore torn rags that barely covered their breasts and private parts. Their oiled bodies glistened in the firelight of the warehouse. They circled each other, the blonde threatening with a two-handed sword, while the lanky brunette wielded two wicked-looking spiked metal gauntlets. Both women bled from small cuts, but they were alert and focused as they looked for openings in their opponent's defenses.

A large crowd of men and women surrounded the cage, cheering and clamoring at the top of their lungs. Barkers ran from group to group, taking wagers and shouting odds. Slender elven serving women dressed similarly to the cage fighters carried assorted food and drink on trays to the clamoring patrons. A number of courtesans, dressed like the combatants, hung on the arms of the wealthier-looking patrons.

Athenril pushed her way through the chattering groups toward a carpeted area. Two heavily armored dwarven guards with crossbows in hand and polearms on their backs stood guard beside a small velvet rope that blocked off the staircase to the second level. She nodded, and the guards exchanged a look from behind their helmet visors. The warrior on the left pulled the rope back, and waved her past.

She ascended the steps to the second level. The area had been cleared and cleaned; several lounge chairs and plush sofas had been brought up to the crude balcony illuminated by fire runes. The balcony allowed for a better view of the gladiators below. A handful of oaken tables and chairs had been set up by the railing for the benefit of those who wished to sit while watching the fights. Several armed men and women sat around a large table, casually observing the fights and chatting over jeweled wine goblets. One of the men waved at her, and she moved to join them.

"Well, well, well... I didn't think I'd see you here tonight, Athenril," greeted a thin-faced man with a scraggly beard. His sunken, pock-marked cheeks made him look ill, but his frame had a wiry strength to it that matched the ruthlessness in his eyes. He stroked his chin with one hand while fondling the bare breast of a plump brunette sitting on his lap with his other.

"You're looking flush, Vincente. Is your girl going to last longer than the first round this week?" asked Athenril with a grin.

"Oh, I'm sure of it," he replied. "Rafaela will be the last one standing tonight."

"Nay, the victor shall be my wench," thundered the hulking, bearded man in furs to Vincente's left. He tilted back his tankard and drank noisily from its contents. "I have trained my woman personally. None of your harlots will be a match for Tasha!"

"I beg to differ, Mathias," said an aged elf woman who sipped from her jeweled crystal goblet. Her graying hair was pulled back in a neat bun, and each of her fingers sported a different-colored jeweled ring. She wore a colorful silk coat with ruffles at her neck and sleeves, but her movements were unmistakably those of a seasoned veteran of combat. The two men at the table regarded her warily. "My Gretchen shall be tonight's victor," she said airily.

"It's nice you are all so confident," observed Athenril as she tossed a heavy sack into the pile of coin in the center of the massive table. It landed with an audible clink. She grinned wickedly. "You're wrong, though. My girl tonight is going to win it all for me."

A bloodcurdling scream burst from the arena and the crowd erupted in cheers. Athenril and her tablemates glanced down. The blonde was lying on her side, moaning and trying to staunch the blood flowing freely from several puncture wounds in her side with her hands. The blow had been a powerful one, leaving shredded skin in its wake. The brunette stood triumphant, roaring to the crowd and lifting both of her bloody fists over her head. Rivulets of her opponent's blood dribbled down the blades and forearms, leaving bright crimson streaks in their wake.

A pair of tanned elven women quickly entered the cage bearing healing poultices and a stretcher. They swiftly applied the herbal concoctions to the fallen combatant and hefted her onto the stretcher. The fallen gladiator groaned as the herbs took effect, but the elves ignored her complaints as they carried her away.

The aged elf woman grimaced, her thin lips drawn into a line.

"It seems Gretchen wasn't worth the coin you spent on her, my lovely Adriana," said Vincente with a sly grin. "Rafaela's fists are hungry tonight. I look forward to seeing them them fed."

"Your whore is savage indeed," replied Mathias. "But she too shall fall to Tasha."

"Who is your entrant tonight, Athenril?" asked Adriana. "Your record so far isn't very good."

"Oh, I've got a good one this time, Lady Adriana. She calls herself the Black Pearl, and she's certainly got some moves," answered the younger elf.

"Where is this Black Pearl of yours? She faces Tasha next," growled Mathias.

"Oh, she'll be there. Care to make a side wager? I'll put up another hundred crowns that my girl defeats Tasha," offered Athenril, grinning.

The bearded Mathias looked as if he had chewed on a lemon. Adriana raised an eyebrow and smiled.

"I'll cover all three of you if you wish to wager. That is... if you aren't afraid," said Athenril.

"Aye, wench. I'll see your coin. Tasha will crush your pearl beneath her heel," growled Mathias, slamming down a handful of small gold ingots.

"I've seen Tasha fight," agreed Vincente, throwing a jingling pouch onto the table next to the ingots. "I'm pretty sure I saw her chew through an iron bar once."

"You're entirely too clever for your own good, Athenril. I shall extend you the courtesy and save my coin for next time," replied Adriana, sipping her wine. The elder elf smirked.

The crowd below started to buzz fiercely again, as the next pair of combatants entered the cage. Athenril looked over at the gladiators entering the ring and nearly dropped the goblet she was lifting to her lips. Tasha was gigantic. She was easily seven feet tall of solid meat, her pale gray skin stretched taut over rippling muscles. Her mask looked like a demon's visage, all hair and fang and painted face. Her platinum blonde hair hung to her shoulders in coarse bunches, partially covering her face. From her vantage point, Athenril noticed the crown of Tasha's head... two stumps of bony material that looked broken.

"An oxman... no, an ox _woman_?!" exclaimed Athenril.

"Ah, that's right. It's the first time you've ever seen Tasha, isn't it?" laughed Vincente. "She's strong as a bronto and twice as ornery."

Mathias looked extraordinarily pleased with himself as Tasha roared at the crowd. The monstrous woman hefted a long-handled spiked club on her back. Heavy iron rivets lined the corners of the huge square-cut head of the war club. The weapon looked like it could break doors and crush armor as if it were parchment, and the warrior woman hefted the massive club like it was weightless.

Opposite the ogress of a woman, the Black Pearl entered the ring. As bronze as her opponent was pale, the Black Pearl didn't walk or stomp so much as saunter into the cage. Her large, heaving breasts were barely restrained by the rags wrapped about her body and the woman's oiled body glistened from head to toe in the firelight. Her rounded hips swayed as she strutted through the entryway. Her face was covered in a smiling harlequin mask highlighted by three peacock feathers from the top, and a black domino mask further obscured her face. Her bright amber eyes twinkled from behind the ornate ceramic mask, and she gave a mocking bow to her opponent, granting the crowd a view of her deep cleavage. The audience went wild with cheers.

"What's this? This is a bloody arena, not the Blooming Rose!" muttered Vincente, shoving the naked woman out of his lap as he rose. He leaned over the balcony, leering openly at the combatants. "She is quite charming, I'll give you that. It's a terrible shame that Tasha's going to pound her into jelly."

"I'm sure that I'll soothe my bruised ego with a bandage made of gold silk," Athenril said mockingly. She rubbed her thumb and fingers together.

The bell rang from the arena, and the battle was joined. The giant warrior lunged with surprising speed and swung her club back and forth in wide arc, advancing toward her foe like a battering ram.

The Black Pearl calmly took a step backward, just outside of the path of the club, and gave her shoulder-length hair a casual toss. The Tal-Vashoth continued to swing, trying to push her toward the edge of the cage. The bronze woman finally drew a pair of wicked-looking curved daggers from her thighs, and held them in a reverse grip, blades down. She took a wide, low stance and waited for the next swing.

It was not long in coming. Tasha swung hard, growling as she hoped to crush her enemy against the iron bars. The entire warehouse rang with the sound of iron on iron as the enormous war club smashed into the cage wall and dented the hard metal. The crowd gasped as they realized that the blow had not connected. The Black Pearl had ducked under the blow, holding herself close to the stained stone floor. As the enormous combatant readied her weapon for another swing, the Black Pearl launched herself toward the struggling ogress. The nimble fighter extended her blades and spun as she passed, drawing her daggers across the Tal-Vashoth's legs in a sweeping, circular cut. She slid to a stop, then snapped her daggers outward, flinging the blood from her blades to the stone floor before sheathing her weapons. She bowed deeply toward the crowd, who had fallen silent.

The enormous warrior shrieked as her legs buckled and she dropped to one knee. Bright red blood spurted from a deep cut in her right thigh. She tried to stand, but the leg gave out and she fell to the floor.

"Get up! Get up and kill that wench!" bellowed Mathias, his face turning purple in his fury.

The massive Tasha tried to rise again, bracing herself with her war club. She struggled to her feet, but she remained unsteady. Her injured leg was bleeding heavily, and her breath came in ragged gasps. She took one faltering step toward the Black Pearl, then another, leaving a trail of crimson in her wake.

The bronze-skinned woman stood her ground as her opponent slowly approached. The bemused expression in her eyes never faltered as the mammoth adversary tried to lift her massive weapon.

Tasha grunted as she lifted the heavy war club. Murder was in her glassy eyes, but her body began trembling as the handle fell from her nerveless fingers. She staggered forward and toppled to the cold stone floor.

The crowd erupted into thunderous cheers.

"Preposterous... that little bitch of a fighter must have cheated!" sputtered Mathias. The large man gripped his goblet with white knuckles as he shook with rage.

"There, there, Mathias. I'm sure Tasha will survive. Perhaps next time you'll reconsider these ridiculous outfits and allow us to properly armor our combatants," offered Athenril with a sly smirk.

"Your Black Pearl is remarkable," said Vincente with a smirk. "I think I want her. A pity that Rafaela is to be her next opponent."

"Are you suggesting something?" asked Athenril, raising an eyebrow.

"Take all of the gold in the kitty and let me keep her. There's a few hundred sovereigns in there, far more than she's worth," Vincente offered magnanimously, while he leaned over the balcony and watched the dusky woman bask in the cheers of the crowd.

"And why would I want to do that? I can just let her gut Rafaela and keep both her and all of my winnings," reasoned the younger elf.

"That Rafaela is monstrous," Adriana announced with a scowl. "She must be part demon... or have a death wish. The bitch fights like a wild animal."

Mathias spat before he spoke. "Yon she-beast is strong, yes. I had thought my Tasha's strength to be sufficient, but perhaps I have erred in my judgement. Still, if your Black Pearl can defeat Tasha so easily, perhaps she may fare better than Gretchen did."

Athenril shrugged. "Don't underestimate my Black Pearl," she said simply.

Vincente laughed. "A good sport, then. Where _did_ you find this one? Your last girl could barely hold a sword."

The younger elf just placed her hands on her hips and smiled.

Vincente noted her silence and leaned over the balcony to watch as the fighters entered the cage again. "She's an Avvar, you know. Rafaela, I mean."

"An... Avvar?" asked Athenril, trying to remember what their people were known for. As she looked closer, realization dawned on her. She cursed softly to herself.

"That's right. She's a berserker."

Athenril could almost feel the palpable aura of smugness radiate from Vincente. She looked down from the railing to the arena.

The Black Pearl had already entered and was standing in an easy, relaxed stance. She turned toward the clamoring crowd and bowed again, the long feathers from her mask nearly brushing the stone floor. The audience burst into a frenzy of cheers and catcalls as her opponent entered the ring.

The brunette had pale skin, with her elbows and knees haphazardly wrapped in bloody bandages. She wore a mask shaped like a skull, her bright blue eyes peering out from behind the cold bone. Oily strands of her brown hair hung in tangled clumps. She raised her two gauntleted fists, tapping her knuckles together in preparation. She hunched over and tensed her shoulders and legs.

When the cage door closed, the bandaged woman let loose a guttural scream and launched herself at her opponent, leading with her right fist. The Black Pearl drew both of her daggers in one smooth motion, and held them in her reverse grip, blades down and facing out. She held her blade against her forearm as she blocked the punch. The sound of metal on metal rang in the cage as the pugilist's onslaught was halted.

If Rafaela was daunted, she did not show it. She immediately brought her left fist to bear, following her initial jab with a vicious hook. Her dusky opponent leaned back and brought her right hand upward, cutting a red gash into her arm, but she paid it no heed. She continued to viciously rain blow after blow on her target. Each blow was blocked, but the Pearl was being driven back from the force of each strike.

Rafaela saw her opportunity and brought down a vicious double-fisted overhead slam. The Black Pearl blocked the blow with crossed daggers, but dropped to one knee from the force of the strike. The she-beast shrieked and kicked upward with a bandaged knee, catching the Pearl in the chin and knocking her stumbling backward.

The Black Pearl shook her head to try to clear the spots of color blooming before her eyes. Her adversary charged again, the fresh blood from her forearms soaking into her bandages. It was like a blacksmith hammering molten metal. The steady ringing of metal on metal mixed with the roar of the crowd as neither gladiator would give. The bronze woman held on to her knives with a white knuckled grip, but her hands and arms were beginning to feel numb. The onslaught from her opponent did not end, even when she ducked under the extended fists and tripped her assailant, sending her sprawling to the floor. The swarthy woman spun toward her fallen foe and sank one blade deep into the thigh of the other.

The fallen woman's scream of pain became a shriek of anger as she twisted away from her enemy. The blade, still stuck in the berserker's flesh, was ripped out of the Black Pearl's hand and the Avvar warrior rolled to her feet. She stood and gingerly tested the leg, as if she was unsure why it wasn't functioning as well as it had been a moment ago, but she simply growled again and smashed her fists together in challenge.

The Black Pearl, down to a single weapon, held it in her right hand and steadied it with her left while assuming a defensive stance. She seemed a bit unsteady on her feet.

"This next attack will determine the battle," whispered Adriana. Mathias nodded at her grimly.

Athenril swallowed involuntarily. She glanced to her left, where Vincente stood with a large grin on his face.

"You should have taken my offer," he said.

"Five hundred sovereigns says my Pearl takes it," challenged Athenril.

"Done," scoffed her competitor.

The two women circled slowly, gauging each other for openings. The berserker twitched, and the Black Pearl made her move. The dusky woman hurled her dagger at her opponent's chest, and immediately launched herself after it. Rafaela brought up both iron gauntlets to protect her chest, deflecting the blade. A moment later, the Black Pearl barreled into her and knocked her onto her back.

The Pearl quickly scrambled for position, mounting her opponent's legs and raining blows on her body. The fallen Rafaela attempted to fight back, but she lacked the leverage for any power. Rafaela continued to try to rise, only to take strike after strike to her mask and jaw. Blow after blow came, until the Black Pearl finally grabbed her stunned opponent's face with both hands, tore the skull mask away, and slammed her own forehead into the berserker's nose. A crack the sound of thunder echoed throughout the arena as Rafaela fell back to the stone and went still.

The Black Pearl got to her feet unsteadily, and raised a weary hand in triumph.

The crowd exploded into cheers.

Athenril turned to look at her business associates. Adriana had a knowing smile on her face as she sipped her wine. Mathias stroked his chin, seemingly lost in thought. Vincente, however, had a sour expression on his face, as if he had just bitten into an unripe lemon.

The younger elf motioned and two burly guards came quickly, bearing a wooden lockbox. She nodded, and they began counting the coin on the table aloud in tandem as they put filled the box with the shining gold.

"T'would seem you made out like the bandit ye are, knife-ears," grumbled Mathias, looking woefully at the coin.

"I haven't collected it all yet, Mathias. Our esteemed comrade still owes me an additional five hundred sovereigns."

"I ah... I have a slight problem, Athenril," Vincente began nervously. "I don't have that much coin with me tonight."

Athenril didn't need to look to know that Mathias and Adriana had risen from their seats. She could hear the wooden chairs being pushed back and the careful steps toward her.

"You know that you have to cover your debts, especially here in the high roller's balcony," growled Mathias from behind the young elf.

"Reneging on a debt is unacceptable for a high roller, Vincente, and it is not without its consequences," added Adriana. Her tone brooked no argument, and her eyes were hard as steel.

"You do seem to have a problem, Vincente. How will you rectify this?" asked Athenril.

"Wait! Just wait a moment!" shouted the nervous-looking Vincente, as he raised both hands and took a step back. "I've got something... something valuable! It's worth more than what I owe, and I'll give it to you!"

"I'm listening," answered the elven smuggler.

"This, this little magic marvel," he offered, pulling a leather pouch from his belt. He reached into the small bag and drew forth what looked like a rock the size of Athenril's first thumb knuckle. It was polished to a sheen, and had tiny, barely-visible hairline cracks running all across its surface.

"A rock? What use is a rock?" asked Mathias, furrowing his eyebrows.

"It's not just _any_ rock," Vincente answered quickly. He drew a small vial of luminescent blue fluid from another belt pouch.

Adriana took a quick breath and exclaimed, "Lyrium..."

Vincente nodded, and unstoppered the vial. He dabbed a single drop of the precious blue fluid onto the rock he held in his hand. The effect was immediate, the cracks that covered the surface of the rock burst forth in iridescent colors. The air felt electric, and Athenril could feel the hairs on her arms begin to stand on end as a result of the sudden feeling of raw energy radiating out from the stone like a wave.

"It's a wyvern's bezoar. I pinched it off of my employer, the fool never realized I had given him an ordinary rock. To the right people, this could be worth thousands," offered the oily man.

"That's very generous. You wouldn't be lying to me about any of this, would you?" asked Athenril.

"Of course not. How could a humble trader like myself fake something like that?" he replied, nervously wringing his hands. "You know a high roller is always good for his debts!"

The youthful smuggler snatched the stone and held it up to the light.

"Of course you are," she said. "A pleasure doing business with you."

* * *

><p>The empty dockfront warehouse was quiet. The only sounds that filled the air were the sounds of dripping water, the small amount of foot traffic outside, and the periodic sound of the footsteps of the single person in the warehouse. The occupant wasn't walking so much as she was pacing. As she circled the large stone pillar, she'd glance at the entrance of the warehouse every few moments to check again if someone was entering. Each time a shadow had crossed the door frame, she'd briefly pause from her walking and hold her breath only to slowly let it out in a quiet sigh when the pedestrian would pass before resuming her pacing.<p>

Something almost imperceptible shifted the woman's attention. She spun, immediately drawing her gleaming daggers and pointed her left toward the shadows.

A glinting object sailed through the air, end over end.

In one smooth motion, the woman sheathed her left blade and deftly plucked the shining stone out of the air.

"I believe this is what you're looking for," offered a woman's voice from the darkness.

Isabela inspected the stone, noting the spiderweb cracks covering its surface. She cut her left thumb with her blade, just enough to draw blood, and drew it across the stone. The tiny cracks glowed with cheery orange light with the application of the blood, and the pirate sighed in relief.

"Thanks," she said.

"Thank _you_," laughed Athenril. "Your efforts tonight have earned me a good amount of coin."

"I'm not getting any of the gold I loaned you for seed money back, am I?" asked the corsair.

"Think of it as your buy-in price. You needed me to get in with Vincente and to find this little marvel. And just think - that rock is worth thousands. You only had to pay a few hundred. Quite a bargain, all told."

The voice sounded smug.

"Besides, the stone is what's important thing, isn't it? What's a little coin when your precious _sweetheart_ is in trouble?" mocked Athenril's voice.

The pirate grimaced but did not reply, for the voice was already gone. She carefully tucked the stone into her sash, and turned to leave.

* * *

><p>The sun rose steadily into the sky as Hawke waited for Nicola. The young maid would normally wake the Fereldan woman much earlier, it wasn't like her to be late. She placed two fingers on the rain-streaked window, feeling the chill through the glass and watching the movement of the darkened sky. The low crack of thunder echoed in the room as the rain continued to fall in fat droplets that plastered themselves against the tall window.<p>

The door creaked as it slowly opened. Hawke turned with a smile.

"It's about time you got here, Nicola. I've been starving all morning, and..."

The words died on her lips as an aged elven maid with her graying hair done up in a neat bun entered the room bearing a covered silver tray. The woman nodded at the Champion and said "Begging your pardon, milady. I am Judeth, and I will be your maidservant starting today. Please do not hesitate to ask for anything."

The Champion looked at the tray, disappointed.

"What happened to Nicola?" she asked.

"Nicola is no longer with us. The lord has given her a new assignment," she said with a deep bow after placing the tray on the table. "Will that be all, messere?"

"No... thank you, Judeth," Hawke replied.

The elf bowed once more and closed the door behind her.

Hawke lifted the tray cover and inhaled the fragrance of warm porridge, spiced and served with heavy cream and a freshly sliced peach. The sweet, earthy smell of the food finished waking her up, and she lifted the heavy silver spoon and took a bite. The flavor was slightly sweeter than she would have liked, but it was satisfying to her hunger all the same. She took a second bite, and then a third, before her spoon hit something hard in the bowl.

The Champion carefully lifted the lump with her spoon and touched it carefully with the tip of her index finger. It was hard, and didn't give at all. She pondered for a moment while sucking the bit of porridge from her finger, and then wiped the rest of the cereal from the object with her napkin.

Hawke held it between her index finger and thumb and lifted it to her eye. It was a shard of green crystal, no more than a chip the size of her thumbnail. It looked semi-transparent, and was clearly broken from something larger. She turned it over and over in her palm, thinking about what it could mean, while idly chewing a slice of peach.

The quiet was interrupted by the sound of metal creaking on metal. The heavy oaken door to her room slid open slightly.

The Champion looked up. She quickly tucked the crystal shard into her belt and peeked through the crack in the doorway. The heavily armored guards that she had passed each morning were nowhere to be found. She narrowed her eyes, silently weighing her options. The Fereldan woman dressed with as much speed as she could, passing over all of the elaborate gowns she had been given in favor of a common brown wool frock left in the back of the wardrobe. She quickly grabbed one of the white silk scarves from the armoire and looped it about her neck, then quietly pushed her door open.

_"The first thing to know about sneaking around is to look like you belong there. Dressing in dark clothes only works at night, when the surroundings are equally dark. If there are ten merchants dressed similarly, who's to say which is the thief?"_

Isabela's words echoed in Hawke's mind as she used the scarves and cloth napkins to approximate a bonnet and dress similar to what the serving women wore. She stepped out from her room, and began moving toward the great hall through the now-familiar corridor. She paused when she heard voices approaching from further ahead. Sidling in behind an empty suit of armor, Hawke listened carefully.

"Is she _really_ the Champion of Kirkwall?"

"Aye, that she is."

"But isn't the Champion an eight foot tall man what killed the Arishok o' them oxmen with his bare hands?"

"What are you, daft? No, she's just a prissy noble like any other. Wears them fancy gowns, eats them fancy foods, smells like them fancy perfumes."

"But I've heard stories that he drinks wine from a cup made from the oxman's skull!"

"Aye, and she wipes her ass with jewels and pisses rainbows too. You sound like such a child."

"I do not. I heard from my friend, who heard from the baker who supplies the Champion with his favorite bread, I did."

The voices continued to approach. Isabela's words came once again unbidden.

_"The second thing is that people are suspicious of things that stand out. It isn't enough to simply look like you belong there if you don't act like it. A still painting can fool you for a moment, but the second your perspective changes, you can tell it isn't real."_

Hawke quickly dropped to her knees and took out her large cloth napkin. She kneeled before one of the suits of armor and began polishing its greaves with her makeshift rag as the guards entered her view. She kept her head bowed and stayed silent as the guards passed, still discussing her more salient attributes and what they would do with them.

"How many times must I tell you? She's a woman, with big beautiful tits and an ass like you wouldn't believe."

"Is that so?"

"I'd like nothing better than to give 'em a good squeeze, and show her what a real man is like."

"You'd best not let the lord hear you say that. The Champion's his guest, isn't he?"

"She, you bloody moron. And who's gonna tell him? You?"

"Well, no. Of course not."

"Damn right, if you know what's good for you."

The two guardsmen's voices grew softer as they passed Hawke without comment. The Champion continued to slowly and methodically polish the metal boot for a while longer, making sure that they had gone before rising. She continued down the corridor, and was about to descend the large, spiral staircase to the foyer and the main exit, when she spotted Nolan speaking with two additional armored guards at the foot of the stair.

The Fereldan woman quickly thought over her options. The stair was clearly out of the question. There was no way for her to sneak past the self-professed handyman without being seen, and he had spent too much time with her for her to fool him with her paltry disguise. She took a step away from the railing to avoid being spotted. She looked out through the iron-wrought window frames at the overcast skies outside, and she remembered a conversation she had in weather much like it.

_"If you can't fool them and you can't fight them, you've got to avoid them. Don't be seen, gather more information, and think of other ways to get at your goal. There are often alternate ways to get what you want."_

_"Does this really work?"_

_"I convinced you to stay in and give me a massage, didn't I?"_

_"But you said it was because you hurt your foot and had a cramp!"_

_"Alternate ways, my lovely. Alternate ways."_

Hawke sighed wistfully before snapping back to reality. She turned and continued down the hall, moving toward the mysterious east wing. She glanced about the unfamiliar area, taking in each of the large mural paintings that spanned the walls and various hunting trophies on display. The Champion passed by the claws of a massive bear, several mounted sets of antlers, and an enormous snarling wolf on display before she stopped in front of a particularly large painting that depicted the lord of the manor standing over a fallen dragon. Directly above the ornate frame hung an enormous skull, presumably of the beast on the canvas. To the left and right of the portrait, two intricately carved jade dragons stood on a pair of stone pedestals. The cloudy green figurines curled like serpents around respective iron spires.

Something was missing. The Champion inspected the carvings a bit more closely.

The left of the iron spires had a green crystal set at the top, but the right did not.

The Champion withdrew the small green stone she had found in her porridge earlier that day and examined it. The stone was scuffed near its flattened base, as if it had been pried out of a setting with a knife. Hawke turned it over in her palm before inserting it into the empty spire. It slid into place with an abrupt clicking sound. Hawke blinked at it, before inspecting them again. Something about the positions of the dragon figurines was off. The heights of the dragons were slightly different.

She reached down and examined the base of the carvings but fifound nothing out of the ordinary.

_Hawke landed painfully on her rear as her training partner stood over her with hands on hips. The smirking Rivaini extended a hand to the fallen Fereldan._

_"Just remember... When all else fails, just grab, pull, and twist," laughed the pirate._

"Well, here goes nothing," Hawke muttered to herself as she attempted to twist the higher of the two statues. The base of the carving swiveled and Hawke felt something inside give way. The figurine rotated slightly under the gentle pressure and the Champion heard a click from the painting. She silently padded to the huge mural, examining the frame closely.

One corner of the massive canvas was loose. The Champion pulled on it carefully and a subsection of the painting swung outward with a low creak. The ornate oak frame had cleverly disguised hinges built into it, and Hawke pulled it back to reveal a stone staircase descending into darkness. She took a breath and quickly moved downward.

* * *

><p>"Tell me you've got the dragon nugget or whatever it is that Daisy and Blondie wanted, because that son of a nug wrangler's party is tomorrow night. We're running out of time," said Varric in greeting as Isabela approached the table.<p>

"We've managed to locate two more of the poisoned canisters. In addition to the one at the Chantry, we found one in the great hall of the Merchant's Guild, and a second near the bazaar in Lowtown," added Aveline, who stared down at her still-full tankard.

"They're each positioned for maximum coverage," said Fenris, taking a sip from his goblet. "All it will take is a bit of wind and the gas could spread all over Lowtown."

"Well, I've got some good news. Here you go, kitten. One wyvern's bezoar, slightly used," replied the pirate cheerfully, placing the stone on the table.

"You actually found one?!" asked Anders, leaning forward suddenly. He looked over the small object and his eyes widened in shock.

"Oh, I knew you would find it! This is wonderful news," Merrill chirped happily. She picked up the little stone and examined it. "It's… amazing. So much power in such a little thing. Can you feel it? Just the air around it is making my skin tingle," breathed the mage as she held the bezoar in her hands.

"But is it enough, kitten? Can we stop the poison with this?"

"It should be… if Anders and I work together on this, I think we can do it," said Merrill, still staring intently at the little stone.

"Alright, kitten. I'm leaving it in your hands then."

"We've still got the fourth canister to find. This is where Hawke would normally save the day," said Sebastian. He smiled. "I bet she's already escaped, like she did back at Chateau Haine."

"We're not waiting around for Hawke to save herself. We didn't before, and we aren't going to start now. We aren't abandoning Hawke," replied Isabela grimly.

"Come on, Rivaini. You abandon people all the time. Hawke especially," joked Varric.

"Not this time, Varric. Not Hawke," Isabela said.

"And what happens if it comes down to hundreds of innocent people or Hawke? Can you make that decision? Can any of us?" asked Aveline with a sigh.

"I've done it before, and I'll do it again. Without Hawke, those people are as good as dead anyway," answered the pirate quietly. "I've had my share of blame for what others have done in the past. If these people die, it won't be because of what we did or didn't do. It'll be because some madman decided to poison them all."

"The ball is tomorrow night. We're running out of time," grunted Fenris with finality.

"With or without you, I'm going after her," answered Isabela in a tone that brooked no argument. The others at the table looked at her dubiously, but they saw the determination in her eyes.

Aveline cleared her throat.

"We're with you, whore," she said, and the rest of the assembled friends nodded.

"Good. Kitten, you and Anders will start disarming the poison that we know about. Start with the most populated areas first, then work your way down," the captain began.

"People will notice if Merrill and I are performing magic in broad daylight. It will take some time to disarm the mechanism. What if the templars get called? The last thing we need is to end up in a dungeon at the Gallows," pointed out Anders.

"That's why Varric will accompany you. He'll be able to smooth it over with any onlookers, and provide a good distraction while you two work," answered the dusky corsair.

"I'll give them some of my finest vintage of bullshit," promised Varric, nodding.

"Meanwhile, I need Fenris and Mistress Muscles to organize all of her guardsmen and find that last canister," the pirate continued.

"We've been searching for days already," protested Aveline.

"Then you should check the areas you missed. We don't have much time left. Start with the areas where the most people will be, and narrow it from there. The bilge rat has already shown us what he likes - places where the most victims will gather. Try to prioritize those."

"Aye, so I'll just go with Fenris and the others to help them search for the remaining canister then," began the archer as he began to rise from his chair.

"Oh no, I've got something else I need from you," said Isabela, placing a finger on his sternum and gently pushing him back into his seat.

"But..." Sebastian protested.

"I have a special task for you, prince of Starkhaven," growled Isabela, looming over him like a dragon staring down its supper. "One that only you can accomplish. And you **will** accomplish it."

Sebastian visibly wilted before her glare. He swallowed hard before raising his hands and saying "I am at your service, my... er... lady."

* * *

><p>The stone staircase spiraled downward into the darkness. Hawke moved carefully and quietly as she could, keeping one hand against the wall for safety and feeling each step as she went. She counted the number of steps as she went down, trying to gauge how far she had come. The darkness didn't bother her too much; as long as she was able to keep an accurate count and the stairwell didn't branch, she knew she'd be able to return without any difficulty. The depth, however, had begun to worry her. By her calculation, she had already gone below the ground floor of the estate, and was about to go below what a normal cellar depth should be. Was there something buried even further beneath the manor house?<p>

Hawke turned the thought over and over in her mind as she descended the stair. An escape tunnel? A dungeon? A treasury? A panic room? All of them, perhaps? Whatever it was, it was something du Gaudet had decided was worth protecting.

The Fereldan woman continued to wonder as she passed the depth for a second basement, and continued her path down. She counted her hundredth step as she reached the end of the staircase, which she estimated would put her at about three levels down from where she began. She swept around with her feet for anything on the ground, but apparently the stone floor had been kept clean.

She sniffed the air. She could smell the faint tang of iron and rust, which meant that there was metal nearby. She stood for a moment, trying to decide which way to go. The dark was still impenetrable, and the walls split from the stairwell entrance, meaning it was an actual room.

Hawke held her fingertips to one side and slowly tried to sidle sideways until she touched the other side. She counted off steps - one, two, three, four, before her fingertips brushed the opposite wall. It had to be some sort of hallway, no room would be this narrow. She made sure that the wall would lead back to the staircase, and moved further into the room.

The woman continued forward slowly, feeling along the walls with her fingers and continuing to count steps until she reached the other side of the room. She had counted forty three paces to that point, and then reached out with both hands, brushing her fingers along the stone wall. She felt a metal hinge on top of a heavy wooden door, and explored the entryway further with her fingers. A heavy metal ring was affixed to the right side of the massive door, and an empty metal support, probably for barring it. A moment later, her fingers brushed a heavy wooden bar, probably for the door.

Hawke wrapped her fingers around the heavy iron ring and pulled. The hinges groaned as the door swung outward, but the room remained dark. The foul smell of stale blood, sweat, and rust immediately assaulted her nostrils. She felt something else, a subtle prickle in the air that made things feel… wrong somehow.

Then she heard a woman's voice come from the darkness.

"Who's there?" it called.

Hawke froze, trying to keep silent. The sudden sound had vanished as soon as it came, leaving her to wonder whether she had just imagined it.

"I know you're out there! Answer me!" clamored the voice again.

"I was just looking for the privy," replied Hawke, flippant as always. The prickling feeling in the air intensified, causing the tiny hairs on her skin to tickle.

"You're not the caretaker," accused the voice. It seemed to be coming from the left side of the room. Hawke could hear soft slaps, the sound of flesh on stone. Walking barefoot, perhaps?

"Let me out of here," the voice asked, more subdued.

"Let you out of where?" asked Hawke.

"Out. Out of _here_. You aren't one of them, are you? He's never sent a woman down here, not yet. He only sends men to do the hurting," answered the voice, exasperated.

Hawke heard a shake, the sound of metal moving slightly. She felt a tiny pulse of energy wash over her, as if someone was fanning her from a distance. The tickle in the back of her head told her that magic was at work.

"Why don't you start by telling me who you are and why you're down here?" asked the Champion, as she tried to explore the room as silently as she could. She felt along the walls with her fingers, trying to find some sort of landmark, or defining characteristics. About five paces in, she recognized a pair of heavy iron manacles. A quick sniff told her that they were rusty, but had the distinct odor of old, dried blood on them. A dungeon, she thought. Definitely.

The voice laughed, but it was a humorless, joyless sound.

"I'm the Champion of Kirkwall," the voice said. "Those monsters are holding me captive, and I need your help to escape."

"W-what?" exclaimed Hawke, suddenly stopping her exploration.

"That's right. My friends call me Hawke, though most know me as Champion. I've been imprisoned, and I need you to help me get out of here," said the voice.

"How can you be the Champion of Kirkwall?" asked Hawke.

"I know it sounds hard to believe, but it's true. If you could see me, you could tell. The lord of the manor… he is an evil man. He kidnapped me, subjected me to cruel tortures, and keeps me down here as his pet. Please, you must help me escape!"

Hawke paused a moment, weighing her options. The tingling was getting stronger. She needed to know more.

"How did you end up here?" she asked.

The voice sighed, exasperated.

"I was doing my duty as Champion of Kirkwall. You know, parties, socializing, business arrangements, that sort of thing. I was at a dinner party, invited by lord du Gaudet. There was delicious food and wonderful entertainment. Someone must have drugged my wine that night. I was here when I woke. Please, you must let me out!" the voice pleaded.

The real Champion paused to consider as she felt the hairs on the back of her neck begin to stand on end.

"My family is rich, and I'm very generous to those who help me," the voice went on.

"Riches, you say?" asked Hawke.

"Just think of it! Gold, jewels, wealth beyond a commoner's dream!" promised the voice.

Hawke stood still for a moment in the silence.

"Or is it something else you want? Some leverage over the lord of the manor, perhaps? His darkest secrets, his weakest points?" the voice offered.

Hawke paused.

"Let's hear some more," she said cautiously.

The voice chuckled, a cruel and painful sound.

"Aye, you want to know the mighty du Gaudet's secrets, hmm? How he has dealings with maleficar, and how he traded me and my blood to the Void-cursed abomination for his own gains. Blood magic, you know," croaked the voice.

"Go on," urged Hawke.

"The horrors that man has visited upon me… they would turn your hair white and haunt your dreams for years. They did things to me, things that no Maker-fearing red-blooded woman should ever have to endure," the voice coldly replied.

"What things? What power does the man have?" asked Hawke.

"Think me a fool? Release me first, and I'll tell you all I know," answered the voice.

"How would I do that? I can't see a thing down here."

"Just come this way, in the direction of my voice. There's a weak spot in the hinge - a mechanism that just needs a bit of a push to open the door, but I can't get the leverage I need from this side of the bars. Find the pin that extrudes a bit at about waist level and push on it!"

Hawke hesitated for a moment, briefly considering the request. Could it be the work of a demon? She didn't feel the normal ripple in her connection to the fade that typically accompanied the presence of a demon, but she had enough experience with the more clever demons and abominations in the past that any sense could be fooled.

"Come on, you'll do neither of us any good dawdling. Once they know you've found this place, you're as good as dead. They can't afford to let you live," the voice added.

Hawke turned her options over in her mind, hoping she was not making a mistake. She sighed and fumbled forward in the darkness, momentarily losing her bearings as she let go of her spot on the wall. She stepped forward with her hands out, counting the steps as she moved. She heard scrabbling sounds from the other side, and the slap of bare feet on stone. She edged forward and her fingers touched cold iron bars.

"It's by me. Follow the sound of my voice," said the other in the darkness.

Hawke continued to move toward that direction, touching her fingers to the bars every now and again. Suddenly, her fingers touched warm skin. It had to be the other woman's fingers.

The woman immediately reached out to touch Hawke's hands. A spark of invisible energy erupted at the contact, washing over the real Champion's skin in waves. The woman didn't seem to notice. Hawke noted that the other woman lacked any sort of calluses on her hands and wondered who she really was. The voice's fingers lingered on the Champion's own calluses from handling weapons for most of her life.

"Good. It's just below here. Feel for my fingers again," ordered the voice, quavering slightly in anticipation.

Hawke knelt down, feeling along the edges of the bars until she came across what felt like a hinge with a protruding heavy iron nail. It had somehow come loose from the hinge it was supposed to be holding in place. A good kick from her side would probably be enough to dislodge it.

"This is it! Just a hard push and I should be able to get the door open!" urged the voice.

Silently hoping it was not a mistake, Hawke brought her foot down on the hinge as hard as she could. The sudden impact jarred the pin loose causing it to fall, and Hawke heard the sound of iron grating against rock, followed by the slapping of flesh on stone as her new companion scrambled through the newly opened hole in the bars.

"Free! Free at last! Oh, you won't regret this. Gold, jewels, all yours for freeing me," crowed the woman's voice. Thin hands reached out and grasped Hawke's arm. There was a brief explosion of magical energy at the contact, and a dark and oily sensation washed over the Champion.

The other woman apparently didn't notice. "Come, we must leave this place. Lead the way, my brave friend," she urged.

"There's nothing else down here?" asked the Fereldan woman. "Another way out, perhaps?"

The voice laughed bitterly, a joyless raspy sound.

"No, my friend. The only things down here are pain and suffering. You have to get me out of here," it urged.

"I'll do what I can," promised the Champion. "Now about that blood magic..."

The voice chuckled cruelly. "The monster had a partner, a pet maleficar named Umthondo. It was _that_ son of a darkspawn that did this to me. He cut me, he _carved_ me like I was a canvas! Me! The Champion of Kirkwall!"

The prisoner spat.

"Thank the Maker that the thrice-cursed bastard has since parted ways with that apostate. Without his dark adviser, he knows as much about blood magic as a turnip. Now let us away. You can ask your questions once we are free."

The pair moved carefully. The woman would occasionally stumble as they walked in the darkness, leaning on Hawke for support when she did so. She felt very slight, as if malnourished and underweight… the prisoner must have weighed around the same or possibly less than the willowy Merrill. Each time they touched, Hawke could feel a small jolt of magical energy released into the air. It was slow going as Hawke kept her hands out carefully in front to make sure they didn't run into anything, and the small, mincing steps that her companion took. The moments passed in silence and the duo reached the foot of the staircase.

Hawke's companion tensed in anticipation when her foot touched the first step. She trembled as she began taking more rapid steps up the spiraling stone staircase. Hawke followed closely behind. The only sounds that Hawke could hear were her her shoes and the prisoner's bare feet slapping the stone and the sound of her companion's labored breathing as they continued to ascend. The prisoner was tiring, but pushing herself further. Hawke could sense the desperation in the other woman as she climbed the steps.

It was the interruption to the rhythmic sounds of ascension that was her first warning. The steady slap-slap of feet on stone had settled into a periodic, comforting beat to the Champion's ears, but when a slight buzzing in her ears interrupted the beat, the Fereldan's ears pricked up.

"Something strange is going on," she hissed at her companion, pausing for a moment.

The prisoner continued without slowing.

"It doesn't matter," the voice growled. "None shall stand in my way."

Her companion redoubled her efforts, climbing even faster with an almost fevered urgency. Hawke kept up, but grew wary. They had nearly reached the top, when a soft, eerie blue glow gently illuminated the stairwell. For the first time, Hawke could see her companion.

Medium-length dark, stringy hair framed deathly pale skin. Tattered rags hung loosely on a body that was once beautiful, but had suffered from lack of adequate food and rest. A multitude of scars, both large and small, decorated the prisoner's arms and legs in patterns and shapes like writing in a language Hawke had never seen. The scars seemed reminiscent of raised tattoos, spiraling and swirling around the skin in an oddly specific shape. Her companion's breathing grew heavy as she climbed, clearly unused to the exertion. The approaching light brightened, causing Hawke's sense of caution to clamor as loudly as it could in the back of her mind.

Suddenly, bright, near-blinding white energy erupted from the walls and ceiling, hurling both women back. The prisoner snarled in rage and threw herself forward at the brightly glowing wards etched into the stone again, only to be thrown back a second time.

Hawke could smell the scent of burned flesh.

"They will not put me back in that hole," the prisoner growled. "The Champion of Kirkwall will not be chained!"

She leaped forward a third time, charging against the warded area, and was thrown back again just as easily. The scars on her skin began pulsing and glowing a dull red color. The smell of singed hair and skin grew thick in the air.

"Perhaps there's a way to turn it off?" asked Hawke.

Her companion turned around to answer. The woman's face had been badly disfigured. Glowing scars crossed her cheeks and lips, creating a macabre grin on her face. Her left cheek was covered in raised spiraling scar tissue, but her right was left pristine and smooth. The most unsettling part was her eyes, so utterly wild and full of fear.

"I don't…" she began before trailing off, eyes widening in shock and rage.

"_**YOU**_,"she hissed.

With the guttural scream of a frenzied animal, the prisoner leaped at Hawke, trying to close her bony fingers around the Fereldan's neck. Hawke struggled to stay upright, but the prisoner was heedless of her own safety.

"Give me back my face! Give it _back_!" the prisoner screamed as Hawke finally lost her balance and the pair tumbled backward down the stairs.

"All of this! It's all your fault! They wanted you! They did this to me because of _you_! Give it back!" she continued to shriek as they fell.

Sharp pains pierced Hawke's sides and back as they crashed into the steps. She gritted her teeth through the pain, but it was all she could do to keep her assailant from closing those bony fingers around her neck. Hawke idly wondered whether this would finally be her end - her neck snapped by a crazed prisoner in the dungeon stairwell of a villain.

A familiar pirate's voice suddenly spoke inside her mind.

_If you're ever in a situation you can't control, remember my first and favorite rule._

Hawke twisted her body with the fall, forcing her crazed opponent's body to cushion her against each subsequent step. The seconds passed as they tumbled and fell down the stairs, grunting and growling at each other like wild animals. She focused on staying alive and blunting the impacts from the steps as the pair plunged down the steps until finally, with a loud crack, they landed at the base of the stairwell. Hawke heard an audible crack as they finally reached the bottom, her assailant's body below her, and the prisoner went limp.

"When all else fails, always be on top," recited Hawke, as she sat up against a wall to catch her breath. "Thank you, Isabela."

The magical energy in the air exploded. Blinding pain erupted from every inch of the Champion's body, twisting her in place and setting every nerve ending on fire. Patches of color burst behind her eyes, swirling and taking shape as she gritted her teeth. The colors coalesced into a blurry figure, reaching out to her. The features took shape and Hawke realized it was Isabela, reaching out to her. She extended her own hand toward the pirate's, but her fingers passed right through as if she were trying to grasp mist. A second figure, gaunt and skeletal, loomed behind the sea captain, and its presence was so dark that all of the bright lights and colors that were flashing dimmed as they were pulled into it. The deepest parts of the void began to burn with black flame, forming mystical symbols that her mind found familiar, yet didn't recognize. A split second later and Hawke felt her own consciousness being dragged into the blackness.

She screamed.

As soon as the sound broke the silence, Hawke was jolted back to consciousness. The magic dissipated as quickly as it had come, but the burning sigils she had seen were etched into her memory. They were like no magical symbols she had ever seen; they were like fitting an enormous wave into a thimble. She slapped her own cheeks twice, trying to focus and shake the image from her mind.

Hawke quickly checked the madwoman's body, and it was as she guessed - the scarred woman was dead from a broken neck. The hands that had been seeking her life had finally fallen limp. Hawke suddenly felt her insides turn to ice. The woman's body was covered in scar tissue, carved to match the various symbols Hawke had seen in her pain-induced vision.

Hawke sat in the silence for what seemed like hours, gingerly touching the bruises forming on her skin. Her ears pricked up when she heard the sounds of boots on stone descending the stairwell. She struggled to rise, but her battered body protested.

"Why can't it ever just go to plan? Why is it always pain?!" muttered the Fereldan to herself.

"Looks like you've been a mite busy this morning," drawled Nolan as he appeared from the stairs with a lantern. "Ah don't want to hurt ya, but ah'll do what's necessary," he warned.

"How did you find me?" asked Hawke as Nolan helped her up.

The thin man was silent as he put one of Hawke's arms over his shoulder.

"The jewel, the guards, the prisoner... someone set me up for this," Hawke reasoned. "Someone _wanted_ me to find this."

"Ah reckon that if somebody did want you to find all this, it'd have to be for a good reason," Nolan said, breaking the silence as they began to ascend the stairs.

"What I can't figure out is _why_. It can't be to escape, there's nothing _down_ here but the prisoner," mused Hawke aloud as he helped her up the steps.

"Ain't mah place to say, your ladyship," replied Nolan.

They moved in silence for the rest of the climb. The lanky man escorted the Champion all the way back to her room, where a tray with healing poultices and pain relieving herbs had been set out for her.

Hawke looked at him suspiciously when she was shown the door.

"Seems to me that a hired man has to fulfill his obligations, your ladyship," he said, inclining his head. "Might be that a man's word is his bond, and he's sworn to honor his word. Might also be a few unsavory things a man might witness while doing his duty weren't included in those obligations. Someone oughta know what those are, even if a man can't exactly say. Funny how things like that might work out."

Hawke looked at him with hard eyes, but he had already turned and begun walking away.

"Are you saying…" she began.

"Ah ain't sayin' nothin'. Just a little idle talk. You'd best prepare for the ball tonight, your ladyship. His lordship wants you all prettied up, nice and proper," he said without looking back.

* * *

><p>The grand ballroom stretched on and upward far beyond what Hawke was used to seeing back at her home. Rich red carpets covered the floors, as guests wearing the finest in silks, leathers and velvets intermingled. Some were chatting among themselves, while others gathered near the long tables laden with freshly-prepared meats, cheeses and assorted delicacies. A steady stream of finely-dressed elves paraded from the kitchens bearing trays of <em>hors d'oeuvres<em> and champagne glasses to the guests, as well as heavier fare to the serving tables. A team of gaily-dressed musicians played lilting music with their vielles for the room, adding rhythm and harmony to the steady murmurs of polite conversation. Near the end of the hallway, a plethora of honored guests lined up to be announced by the booming voice of du Gaudet's valet.

"The Compte and Comptesse of Bourdain," announced the barrel-chested majordomo from the entrance, as a wispy-haired elderly man in dark blue velvets escorted an equally elderly woman that positively gleamed with gold and silver jewelry. Compte Bourdain handed his jewel-encrusted cane to one of the guards in gleaming plate armor for inspection, before hobbling to join his wife by the buffet tables.

Hawke stood off to one side from the gathered nobles, looking out the window at the setting sun. The elven servants had already begun lighting the braziers and activating the glowstones in the ballroom. She sighed as she looked down at her dress. It was a sleek number tailored to fit her frame. She wore an off-shoulder steel gray gown that hugged her hips, with a wide belt of silver chain links and a large sapphire belt buckle. The Champion's creamy skin was offset by a pair of elbow-length dark velvet gloves with silver bracelets set with sapphires, and her shoulders and neckline were covered by a white feather boa draped loosely about her neck. Soft velvet slippers encased her feet, hidden by the length of her gown. She lifted her glass and sipped the wine, noting the sweetness of the beverage. It was a fine vintage, a Tevinter wine by the taste of it, but she was in no mood to enjoy the flavor. She glanced about for a place to set her glass down, and a worried-looking lady-in-waiting quickly brought a tray to take it from her.

"Marques Adagio de la Cruz, Blade of the Queen, Lord of the Seleny River Valley, and his guest, Lady Sara Najafi of Ayesleigh," boomed the attendant. An elven man in green with a beautiful Rivaini woman in a backless white gown on his arm stood before the manservant, but two heavily armored guards locked their halberds before them, barring their way. The elf grimaced before unbuckling the rapier from his belt and handed the weapon to the manservant. The guards retracted their polearms and the couple sauntered past, smiles returning to their faces.

Hawke looked back out the window, beyond the gardens to the mountains on the horizon where the sun had begun to vanish behind the snow-covered peaks in the distance. The setting sun illuminated her face with a soft, orange glow for scant moments before vanishing completely behind the mountains.

"Why do you hide yourself out here, my dear?" came a deep voice from behind her. Its owner, Lord du Gaudet, strode to her confidently and placed one large hand on her gloved forearm.

"I don't feel very comfortable here," replied the Champion. She glanced at him. He was dressed in his customary green velvets with gold embroidery. His hair was pulled back in a small tail tied with a deep green silk ribbon, and his velvet coat sat snugly about his broad shoulders and barrel chest. He wore a white satin shirt trimmed with lace above deep green velvet slacks, and soft leather boots. He would have looked very handsome, had he not had a sinister gleam in his eye, and his upper lip not been curled into a semblance of a sneer. Her eyes lingered at the golden amulet around his throat.

"It is important that you mingle with our guests. I want to make sure that everyone here knows exactly who you're here for," he said, his voice deepening. He gestured toward the crowds.

"Ser Ghyslain of Tantervale and his escort, Lady Fara of House Calibrese," announced the valet. A balding man with streaks of grey in his brown beard marched forward with a military bearing. He was accompanied by a fresh-faced girl at least a decade his junior dressed in a pale pink silk gown with a bored expression on her face.

Hawke glanced back at du Gaudet. He looked at her with a bemused expression, tracing the outline of the silver sapphire pendant at her collar with a finger before raising her chin. He leaned toward her, seemingly intent on kissing her. She turned from him, a frosty look shining in her ice-blue eyes. He chuckled and kissed her turned cheek.

"Defiant till the end, my Champion. Best you remind yourself that you are mine," he smirked, tapping the golden medallion around his neck. Three out of four gemstones the size of Hawke's thumbnail glowed with unnatural light, though the fourth was dull and lifeless. "You'll do as I ask and you'll like it, or all of those precious, ordinary people you've fought so hard to keep safe will all die in agony."

She grimaced at him, her even, white teeth gritted and a murderous look in her eyes. He chuckled.

"You couldn't bear to have it on your conscience, could you? All those poor, defenseless, _worthless_ people just biting and clawing and tearing each other to bloody pieces," he continued. She could practically see the smugness dripping from his voice. "You'd like nothing better than to tear me apart right now. But you can't, can you? You can't risk it, because the moment I die, so shall they."

She sighed as her shoulders slumped. She tightened her lips and turned from him, though the icy look never left her eyes.

"Get it out of your system while you can, my Champion. You are _mine_. Mentally... emotionally..." he began, placing both hands on her bare shoulders and gently squeezing. He leaned in and she could feel the heat from his body on her back. "... and _physically_," he concluded, whispering into her ear. She felt sick, a roiling wave of disgust grabbing her from deep within.

She recoiled from him, twisting her shoulder to throw his hand off. He sneered at her, taking a step forward.

"His royal highness, Sebastian Vael, Crown Prince of Starkhaven..." began the herald. Hawke's ears pricked up. Sebastian? Here? The valet coughed nervously before continuing. "And his escort, Captain Isabela di Falcore, Princess of Pearl-diving, Herald of the Honeyed Valley, and Keeper of the Champion's Box."

Lord du Gaudet coughed violently as he heard the valet's announcement while the crowds of nobles buzzed in curiosity over the odd introduction. Hawke ignored them all. She momentarily glanced at Sebastian in his ivory-colored doublet and trousers with brown trim before moving on to the woman at his side, and her breath caught in her throat.

Isabela stood next to Sebastian, scanning the crowd for someone or something. Her shoulder-length hair had been done up in a loose bun, and the normally wild locks fell instead in ringlets that softly framed her heart-shaped face. Small bands of gold with pearls had been woven into her hair, and they sparkled in the light of the cheerful glowstones. Her jewelry had been buffed to a mirror sheen, but what really drew Hawke's eye was the evening gown she wore. Isabela had forgone her usual gold choker and tunic, and instead wore a form-fitting silk dress, royal blue trimmed with gold. The gown was cut high on both sides, showing her bare legs and delicate feet clad with golden gladiator-style sandals with shining straps wrapping about her calves up to just below the knee. Unlike her usual attire, it had a high neck with a collar and yet the precise tailoring and tight-fitting silk left little of her luscious figure to the imagination. The outfit accentuated her gorgeous breasts, trim waist, and rounded hips with interesting plays of fabric, while leaving her arms exposed. Instead of her customary leather gloves and shoulder armor, her dusky skin was bare save for a number of jewel-encrusted gold bracelets at her wrists. A line of lilies embroidered on the front of the gown accentuated the contours of her body, starting at her shoulder and growing diagonally down across her chest. The pirate was stunning; Hawke couldn't tear her eyes away.

"You know, Lord du Gaudet, I think you're right. I should go and mingle with your esteemed guests," smirked Hawke, slipping past him and moving toward the guests. A nearby guard began to follow, but du Gaudet held up a hand.

"There will be time for that later. Let her test the limits of her leash for now. I will soon bring her to heel," he said, rubbing his chin.

Hawke wasted no time. She moved as quickly as she could, but her gown tightly hugged her hips and restricted her stride. She frowned as she forced herself to take small, mincing steps through the groups of nobles. As she approached, several attempted to strike up conversation with her.

"I say, is that the Champion of Kirkwall?"

"Oh Champion, you simply _must_ meet Lord Cornelius."

"Champion, it is lovely to see you again."

She nodded and dismissed them as quickly as she could. She begged their pardons, and promised to speak with them soon, but there was someone she absolutely _had_ to speak with. She smiled and waved politely and pushed past those who crowded around her, but her eyes never left her target.

The pirate's amber eyes lit up and the corners of her lips curled upward when she spotted the approaching Fereldan woman. She controlled herself, holding in the feeling of relief that washed over her like a hot bath on a cold day. Instead, she allowed herself to smirk, drinking in the sight of Hawke's swaying hips and shapely legs as she walked forward in her hip-hugging dress. Isabela allowed her smirk to grow, and inwardly grinned at the flush growing on Hawke's cheeks.

* * *

><p>"Isabela, do ye see-" began Sebastian, looking the wrong way through the crowd. "Isabela?"<p>

The prince looked to his side, finding an empty spot where he had expected a pirate captain to be standing. He looked up and saw her disappear into the crowd, slipping between a pair of silk-clad gentlemen that both looked on appraisingly as she passed. He thought for a moment, shrugged, and helped himself to a glass of wine.

* * *

><p>The pirate had spotted her, and the two approached each other. Gently pushing her way through the gathering crowd, Hawke increased her pace. Finally, she reached her lover. Isabela smirked and clasped Hawke's right hand in hers.<p>

"Hawke," she said.

"Isabela," acknowledged the Champion. "You look stunning."

"I _told_ you that I'm perfectly capable of carrying on polite conversation without using the words 'shit' or 'ass', didn't I?" Isabela laughed. The sound brought a breath of relief over Hawke, like a cool breeze on a hot day. The Champion smiled her first genuine smile in what felt like years. Had it only been a few days since she had last seen the pirate? The affairs of the previous week felt like a blur after du Gaudet had issued his ultimatum. He had sent servants to fit her for the dress, prepare her for the party, and personally invite several of the guests as a showing of his power over her.

Those specific guests seemed to be edging closer. An old noblewoman with her hair done up so tightly that it actually stretched her wrinkled skin taut approached, pulling a fur stole closer about her bony shoulders with one hand, while waving with her other. She called out in a shrill, nasal voice.

"Champion! Oh, Champion, how lovely to see you here!"

"Well met, Lady Janice," greeted Hawke in a slightly strained voice.

Isabela winced as her palm felt a pinch. The Fereldan's grip on her hand had tightened painfully at the sound of Lady Janice's voice. She put on a smile and slid next to her lover.

"I had heard you came to this lovely gathering with the host, my Champion. Jenner was utterly distraught at the thought of having lost you," she shrilled.

"Lady Janice, you remember my _partner_ Isabela, don't you?" smiled Hawke, holding up Isabela's hand in hers.

"Oh, your business partner, of course," nodded Lady Janice. The corner of one lip curled very slightly in distaste. "Came with the crown prince of Starkhaven, didn't you?"

The canny pirate smiled and nodded. "The prince is just a good friend, but lacks the resources to partner with me long term. The Champion and I have a very _close_ relationship. Quite a slave driver, that one. She often makes me load and unload her special cargo from my hold _all night long_," she mused, seeing the color bloom on Hawke's cheeks. "And yet she's so _demure_ about it. You should see her take command, she really gets _hands on_ to ensure that her delicates are properly handled... it's utterly exhausting and enjoyable at the same time," the pirate continued, smirking.

Each word that Isabela spoke drove the noblewoman's left eyebrow up slightly higher than before. She idly wondered how high she could make it rise, before Hawke interrupted her.

"My apologies, Lady Janice, but I must speak privately with my partner. You understand, don't you?" smoothed Hawke, hooking her arm in Isabela's and pulling her away. The Champion glanced back and forth, noting that there were others moving to intercept them. A movement caught her eye, and she hit on an idea. She tugged the pirate gently, and the dusky corsair nodded and followed cautiously. Hawke swore under her breath at the small steps her dress continued to force her to take. She moved as quickly as she could, pulling Isabela onto the dance floor where several couples danced slowly to the melodic sounds of the musicians.

The Rivaini cocked an eyebrow.

"We need to talk," said Hawke, taking Isabela's left hand in hers and placing her right on the pirate's hip.

"I do like it when you lead," said the pirate with a smirk as they began a slow waltz across the dance floor. The duelist gently pulled her dance partner closer, reducing the extent of their movements.

"You can't be here," murmured Hawke quietly as they danced.

"And yet here I am. Funny how that works," replied the buxom buccaneer.

"I can't tell you why, but I'll figure something out. You mustn't stay, or you'll arouse suspicion," the Champion continued.

"Hawke, you know we'll always have your back. _I'll_ always have your back," said Isabela, pressing herself against her lover's body and putting both arms around Hawke's neck. "Trust in me," she breathed, almost too softly to hear, as they danced on.

Hawke slid her hands down the pirate's waist as they moved more slowly. "I..." she began, looking into Isabela's full eyes.

"Excuse me, my dear. May I cut in?" asked a masculine voice from behind.

Isabela quickly turned to look at who it was, but she already recognized the voice. Reluctantly, she released her embrace, and took a step back, affixing a false smile on her face.

"Of course, Lord du Gaudet," she said graciously, giving a half-curtsy and stepping back. She gave Hawke one more emotion-filled look, and turned to leave without looking back.

The nobleman stepped in and took Hawke's hand and began to lead. She matched his movements, but her gaze lingered on Isabela's back. They danced in silence for a few moments, but the Fereldan continued to avoid eye contact.

"What did she want, my Champion?" he asked, finally.

"To know what was going on. She's concerned," replied the Champion.

"As she should be. And you told her nothing?" nodded du Gaudet.

"I told her nothing."

"Good. Now get rid of her. Send her away for good, my Champion. Do it now," he said. "I don't want to ever see that wharf rat ever again."

"But..." protested the Champion.

"If you don't convince her to leave, my guards will be happy to solve this problem permanently. And the Starkhaven boy along with her," he said, his tone completely detached. "I don't care how you do it. Just make it happen, my dear."

He suddenly grabbed and lifted her chin roughly, forcing her to look at him.

"You belong to _me_, my Champion. You'd best get used to that idea quickly," he said, smirking. Then he kissed her.

Her insides seized up, and she tried to pull back, but his strong hands held her in place. Even at her most ardent, Isabela hadn't pushed like this. He took his pleasure from the kiss, while feelings of utter disgust spilled onto Hawke like someone had upended garbage directly over her mouth. His facial hair bit into her cheek, and his breath smelled as foul to her as an open grave. She felt sick as she felt his warm breath on her skin. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he released her.

Some of the other nobles had stopped dancing, and were buzzing with the latest gossip they had witnessed.

"My Champion," he smiled, dark eyes glittering. "Don't you have a task to do?"

Hawke withdrew from the man, inwardly relieved at the increased distance. Her body responded automatically to the smiling sycophants that tried to press in and introduce themselves to her, but her mind raced for a solution to her problem. She examined the problem mentally for the umpteenth time… there had to be some way to separate du Gaudet from his amulet. Once she managed to do that, he was effectively powerless.

Another bann, or lord, or duke, or arl, or something was speaking to her. She repeated his name, smiled and nodded, and let him take her hand in his. His lips moved as he spoke, but she paid little attention to his words and barely even registered what he looked like. Instead, she scanned the room for the pirate who commanded her attention. The gathered nobility were clumped about in small circles, but the sea captain seemed to be hidden.

"If I were Isabela, where would I be?" she asked herself. She sighed with a smile. "Where's the liquor?"

The Champion turned toward the buffet table and bar. A group of young nobles were gathered around it, calling for drinks. Hawke's suspicions proved correct as she found Isabela in the center of them, sipping from a crystal wine goblet and gesturing dismissively with one hand.

"... Sure, you _could_ take a frigate instead of a brig, but what you bring in power, you lose in speed. You might be have the capacity for a crew of a hundred, but you've got to feed and water them too. Give me some experienced hands and I'll have a brig to Rialto and back before you can even clear Hercinia."

"But wouldn't you be vulnerable to pirates? I've heard stories of the Raiders, all how bloodthirsty and unstoppable they are," scoffed a ruddy-cheeked young man in an orange velvet waistcoat.

"They'd have to catch me, first. That's the trick with pirates, you know. They tend to give up once their prey reaches safe harbor," she replied, taking a sip from her goblet.

"Couldn't they just lie in wait you along your course?" Hawke interjected. "The villains could set a trap for you and strike before your superior speed could be a factor."

The gathered onlookers listened carefully for the captain's answer.

"Ah, the Champion of Kirkwall, always the keen strategist," replied Isabela. She smiled.

"It's true that it could be troublesome. There are those who believe that keeping secrets is the best solution… the fewer that know your heading, the harder it is for your enemies to ambush you," the captain continued. Several members of the audience nodded.

"That particular strategy runs a special risk, especially if you've become as famous as the mighty Champion… if your enemy's learned your patterns and your favorite courses, they'll manage to get ahead of you anyway by study and planning. Then you'll be trapped like a tuna in a net, ready to become someone's supper. Better to mix things up a bit by calling on some trusted allies for a little protection in those situations."

Hawke sniffed. "Wouldn't that cut into the profits?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"It might... in the short term. But you wouldn't put that much coin and effort into sailing a ship if you weren't in for the long haul, would you? For that you'd want mutually beneficial arrangements," replied the corsair.

"Sometimes we lack that option," murmured Hawke, turning away.

"You _never_ lack that option," whispered Isabela, placing her hand on the Fereldan's shoulder before she could go. "Apologies, my friends. I must chat with the Champion on some urgent business matters."

* * *

><p>Moments later, the pair found a modicum of privacy by the entrance to the kitchens. Isabela leaned back against the wall, looking on as Hawke grew more irritable.<p>

"I thought I told you to leave!" the Champion hissed.

"And I thought I told you to _trust_ in me," the captain replied.

"You don't understand. I… I need you to leave. It isn't safe for you here. I'll be back before you know it. Please," beseeched the Fereldan. "I… the lord of the manor would… I don't know what I would do if…"

Isabela immediately pulled Hawke into a tight embrace, holding her close. The pirate could feel her lover's body shaking slightly against hers while she whispered soothing noises to her paramour.

"I didn't come here to be safe, sweet thing. I came here because you _need_ me here, even if you won't admit it," Isabela chided gently.

"Just… let me fix this," Hawke argued. "I can do it, I know I can."

"You don't have to, Hawke," whispered Isabela. "Let me help."

The pirate ran her hand along her lover's back gently, and the Fereldan woman shuddered in pain. The dusky corsair stopped immediately and peered carefully at Hawke's exposed skin.

"What the-" she began, before narrowing her eyes. She carefully rubbed one thumb against a slightly discolored patch of Hawke's normally creamy skin, revealing the concealing makeup that had been applied to hide the purpling bruises beneath.

"Wait just a moment! What are you doing, Isabela? Stop that!" demanded Hawke as the buccaneer roughly held her and examined her skin with a practiced eye.

"That broomstick-gargling ash-spewing rotworm did this, didn't he?!" the pirate growled. The crystal wine goblet shattered in her hands as she clenched them into fists. The dark wine mixed with the Rivaini's blood as it dripped onto the floor from her white-knuckled grip.

"Isabela, what are you doing? It's nothing," Hawke began, but the captain was having none of it.

"Jillian and dozens of others are dead. That bastard put your in life-threatening danger, and made you push your friends away. Made you push _me_ away. All in the name of doing the right thing," she whispered as her face darkened in anger.

"He thinks he's so smart, pulling these strings and making us dance. Well, I've had all I can stand from this swaggering sack of shriveled up danglers. It's high time to cut those strings, and I'm just the girl to do the slicing," she finished.

"Come on, Isabela. Don't do something stupid, now is _not_ the time for this!" hissed the Champion.

The pirate paused and took a deep breath.

Hawke took a moment and breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe she had finally gotten through to her. Maybe the bloody pirate would see the sense in it. Maybe-

The Champion's eyes flew open in surprise as Isabela suddenly bent her backward, kissing her deeply. The Rivaini woman's dexterous tongue gently pinned hers down, and Hawke could feel her toes curling and her eyes closing at the forcefulness of the kiss.

The Fereldan was barely coherent when the kiss finally broke. Her knees felt like jelly, and the only thing keeping her upright was the strong arm that the pirate had wrapped around her shoulders. She sputtered for a moment, struggling to find a coherent thought.

"Don't you worry, sweet thing. I've got a plan," Isabela replied with a mischievous smile, gently pressing her other fingertip to her lover's lips. The pirate gave Hawke a quick peck on the lips, a saucy wink, and then dropped the poor Champion ass-first onto the floor.

"Isabela! _Isabela!"_ shouted the Champion from the floor, finally having found her tongue as the pirate stormed directly into the crowd of nobles. If the buccaneer heard, she gave no response as she strode forward, smoothly pulling a sword from a surprised guard's scabbard and punching the hapless victim in the throat with the handguard. The unfortunate man dropped like a sack of potatoes, followed shortly by gasps and screams from among the nobles gathered nearby.

"That woman is going to be the death of me," sighed Hawke as she tried to get up.

* * *

><p>"No, you need to focus at the base. Look, that's where the enchantment is weakest," said Anders, pointing at the canister.<p>

"I already _tried _that. It's the weakest, because that's where the excess mana drains off. We need to focus it _there_, where all of the channels directly connect," replied Merrill.

"But if you overload it, that will cause it to detonate prematurely!" said Anders, sighing.

"You two are making me really nervous just watching you," interjected Varric, pacing several strides away. "Are you sure it's safe to be here?"

"It's as safe as anywhere in the Chantry," replied the revolutionary. "If it goes off, we're all going to die clawing each others' throats out."

"My reassurance knows no bounds," groaned the dwarf. "Can I stand outside yet?"

"Hush, Varric. It will all be fine, I know it will," reassured Merrill.

"You're sure you're sure?" asked Anders again.

"I'm telling you, it's right here. Can't you feel it, Anders?" asked the willowy elf.

"It just makes me nervous," he replied.

"Stop saying that! You're scaring the piss out of me!" grumbled the dwarf.

"I can feel the blood and the bezoar calling to it. I'm going to do it," said Merrill, concentrating hard.

"You're really sure?"

The Dalish elf didn't reply. Instead, she released the mana through the wyvern bezoar, and the entire room was suddenly filled with light.

* * *

><p>Somewhere, far away, unbeknownst to its wearer, the soft light within a red gemstone set in an elaborate golden amulet gently faded.<p>

* * *

><p>His name was Jervis. He had grown up on a large farmstead just outside of the Nevarran border, planting turnips and raising pigs. He had grown up bigger than the rest of the other children on the farmstead and had quickly learned from childhood that being bigger and stronger had its clear advantages. The other children would give him their desserts if he threatened them, and he could always get the easier chores and extra portions of supper if he wasn't caught. The girls always found him interesting, because he commanded the respect and fear of the other children. And even if they didn't, all he had to do was push them a little and they'd come around. He'd eventually bore of them, of course, but it was always nice to have the options available. The other boys would happily take his discards, though once or twice they had tried to fight back against him. This had happened after he had been apprenticed to the smithy, however, and a few heavy punches from muscles hardened by smelting iron and forging steel had quickly disabused them of any ideas that he would fold so easily.<p>

The life of a blacksmith, however, wasn't enough for Jervis. One night he got into a bar fight while visiting the biggest town he had ever seen, and ended up in the local stocks after breaking the bones of four other men who had been members of the local guard. They had called him a turnip digger.

While sitting in those stocks and contemplating the size of the world beyond his turnip farmstead, Jervis was approached by an old woman in battered and dented green armor. She thought he had some potential, and offered him a place with her group of sellswords called the Green Lances. They would train him, clothe him, feed him, and even pay him. In return, he would serve them faithfully as a soldier. He happily accepted and never looked back.

Life as a soldier was different than life as a blacksmith. He wasn't the best at fighting, nor was he the best at shooting or swordplay, but he was good enough. He was sufficient to protect the flank of his fellow soldier, and the jobs they did earned enough to keep him comfortably fed and the occasional visit to the local brothel. He made a few friends in the company and lost a few friends in the battles they fought, but he knew his trade and did his best.

He had traveled and served with the Lances for a few years when tragedy struck. Work had been growing scarce, and the Green Lances were running low on funds. Desertion was becoming commonplace, and Jervis had considered it more than once himself. Jervis himself stayed with the Lances mostly due to a lack of other options. Out of desperation, the Lances had begun robbing small, isolated hamlets and farmsteads for coin and loot. It wasn't lucrative, but it was enough to get by. The Marcher authorities were too spread out and disorganized to put serious thought to hunting bandits, and the nearest city, the City of Chains, was too busy dealing with its own massive refugee problem to pay attention to brigands in the field.

One fateful day the Lances sacked a small farmstead, much like the one where Jervis had grown up. The farmers were quickly bloodied and bound, and the remaining Lancers had begun carrying away the valuables, when a pair of them discovered a pretty young boy no older than fifteen hiding in the barn loft. Jervis had wanted to take him prisoner with the rest, but his ally had been without a brothel visit for too long and demanded to take his pleasure from their discovery. Jervis wasn't the sort to play the hero - he was the bandit by then, after all, so he turned to leave his comrade to do what he wished. As he left the barn, he heard a blood-curdling scream from inside, followed by an awful growl and a terrible, wet tearing noise. He looked back, only to see the bloodied upper torso of his friend land at his feet in a bloody, twitching heap. The pretty boy had vanished, and in his place was a mottled, hideous creature with distended limbs, cruel-looking claws, and bloated grey skin. It looked like a thing of nightmare. Jervis ran for his life.

He had later discovered that the boy had been a young apostate hiding his magical abilities. The creature was an abomination, and that it had killed the entire contingent of Lances, as well as all of the farmers and livestock. Accounts varied, but they all agreed that a small army of templars was finally assembled to bring it down after a month-long countryside rampage. Jervis had been the only one to escape with his life, a fact he kept hidden to avoid being thought unlucky. He wandered from place to place, sometimes acting as a highwayman, others doing odd jobs for others. Fortune finally smiled upon him one day, and he was recruited as a manor guard for a local lord. It wasn't much, but it paid, plus it provided food and lodging. The worst he'd have to deal with were the lord's vassals and the occasional irate mistress.

Occasionally he'd have to strong-arm a servant or push around a lordling, but overall the job was easy and uninteresting. Tonight, Jervis had the enviable assignment of standing watch over some grand gala event that his employer had thrown. Nobles and rich people from all over had gathered to attend, each wearing their jewels and finery and eating delicacies and drinking wines from bottles that easily cost more than his monthly pay twice over. With any luck, he'd be able to get some of the food after the party had ended, and possibly liberate some jewelry off of a passed-out drunken lordling.

He sighed and scratched his nose, idly wondering whether drunken nobles ever got into fistfights. A feminine scream suddenly erupted from the crowd, followed by another, then another. Panicked people began pushing and shoving in a large group, all fleeing… something.

Jervis waited patiently. He had learned from past experience that being the first one into a fight would usually get you killed. A few of the other guards had drawn their blades and were doing battle with what appeared to be a crazed bronze-skinned woman in a fancy blue ball gown. He had been in enough battles to know when he was outmatched. Her movements alone were enough to tell him that she was clearly their superior with the blade, and his as well. She moved the sword like it was a part of her body, and she had clearly anticipated each attack, using the minimum amount of effort to deflect or dodge each attempt on her life. She hadn't killed anyone yet, however, which was a good sign. Perhaps she was purposely avoiding fatal wounds. Jervis put his hand on the pommel of his sword…

"Er… I'm not too sure ye want to be doin' that," said one of the noblemen nearby. It was a handsome-looking man, Jervis thought, with ruddy auburn hair and piercing blue eyes. He was holding a wine goblet and watching the melee from a distance.

"She's a bit of a handful, and ye may just want to find another place t'be fer a bit if ye don't fancy gettin' a hole cut in ye," he added.

"She does seem a bit dangerous," replied Jervis, nodding.

"Aye, why d'ye think I'm warnin' ye? The Maker would'nae be pleased if more people were injured t'night than need be," he said.

"You seem to know her. Couldn't you convince her to stop hurting people?" asked Jervis, frowning.

The man laughed.

"Believe me, I've tried. She's like a woman possessed, that one. And you can clearly see what she's capable of. D'ye really think that I'd say no to someone who can do _that_ to a man?"

He pointed to the woman just as she kicked a guard between the legs, then kneed him in the chin. Jervis could have sworn he saw teeth knocked loose from the impact.

"I take your point," replied Jervis.

They observed in silence for a few moments. The woman continued to fight like a demon, dropping one hapless guard after another. Her remaining opponents formed a tight defensive group.

A heavy hand clapped Jervis on the shoulder. He turned to see his employer glowering at him, livid.

"What are you doing? Get in there and stop the bitch!" bellowed the lord.

The friendly nobleman gave a rueful shrug when Jervis glanced back.

He sighed and drew his sword, advancing to meet his fellow uniformed guards.

The woman showed little reaction to his presence, other than slightly turning her body to minimize any exposed weakness in his general direction. He tried a quick lunging cut aimed at her thigh, testing her defenses. She moved almost imperceptibly, shifting her weight and sliding her leg back just enough for the attack to miss. She hadn't even bothered to look in his direction.

Instead, the dusky swordswoman was looking through the crowd for someone or something. Suddenly, she stood up straighter and lowered her sword for a moment. Whoever it was she was looking for, she had found him. Jervis traced the line from her eyes to her probable target, and his heart sank. Leave it to his employer to be the one this monster was after.

"Protect the master!" shouted one of the other guards. The remaining six guards, Jervis included, fanned out and formed a protective line, interposing themselves between the demoness and her target. She held her position, turning slightly for a more defensive stance.

Jervis exchanged glances with Colin, another of the six guards. Jervis liked Colin. He had pretty eyes and a jolly laugh. Colin looked nervous. With all six guards ready to strike, the bronze-skinned hellion would be vulnerable if she took the offensive. None of the guards had any illusions that attacking in tandem would bring any better results, however. They were at an impasse, but time was clearly on their side.

Jervis froze.

That bloody nobleman from before had wandered nearby, and he had apparently gotten himself falling-down drunk in the meantime! Just what in the Maker's name was going on here?

"Ssshhcuse me, d'ye nuuu wr th'privy is?" the fool slurred, stumbling into Colin and grabbing onto him for support.

Colin staggered, off-balance, and angrily shoved the soused nobleman back. "Get off me, you bloody wanker!" he shouted.

It took only a moment for Jervis to realize that things were about to get extremely bad. He tried to bring up his sword, but it was too late. First Dace to his left fell to the ground clutching at his left thigh as blood erupted from a fresh cut. Then Rook, to his right, let out a gurgling cry as he collapsed after being kicked in the throat. Jervis lashed out wildly with his blade, knowing that it was his only chance. He felt soft resistance, and realized he had scored flesh. He could taste the familiar acidic tang of his own saliva as his heart beat faster from the excitement of combat. He pulled on his blade, sawing it across the wound and savoring his victim's grunt of pain as something heavy hit his ankle.

The entire world went topsy-turvy as Jervis landed heavily on his back. He felt all of his breath immediately rush out through his mouth and he coughed, trying and failing to breathe. Jervis blinked, looking up at the ceiling of the grand ballroom and trying to remember his training. Had the ceiling always been that pattern? It was actually quite lovely. The last thing Jervis remembered seeing was the heel of a brown leather sandal trimmed in a very pretty gold, yet streaked with blood, on a rather shapely woman's leg rushing towards his face.

* * *

><p>"Stop it!" commanded the willowy elf.<p>

"No, _you_ stop it! You got to do the last one!" grumbled Anders.

"Which is all the more reason why you should let Daisy do _this_ one, Blondie!" grumbled Varric.

"But this one is different from the last. Can't you feel the difference in the mana? Justice is pointing at it right now," asked the apostate.

"Just... ease up a bit. We don't need quite that much blood, the bezoar should be enough," sighed Merrill.

"Alright, alright. I think I've got it this time. Or at least Justice does," said Anders.

The dwarf shut his eyes tightly as the welcome darkness gave way to the brightest red.

* * *

><p>At that same time, miles away, a small blue gemstone lost its unnaturally bright luster. If anyone had been paying attention, they would have seen it quickly fade from its vibrant color to a dull, lifeless grey.<p>

* * *

><p>Damn that woman! Everything was completely under control just a moment ago. Hawke finally had the opportunity to save the day through one brilliant master stroke. All that she had to do was get close enough to du Gaudet and steal his amulet. The man was in love with her… or at least <em>wanted<em> her, and that afforded her a unique opportunity to get close to him and get her hands on the jewels. All it would take was a little acting, a strong stomach, and the right distraction, and she could put all of this unpleasantness behind them.

But nooooo, that foolish pirate had to go and muddle everything by misconstruing some minor bruises and abrasions from a perfectly innocent accidental murder attempt by a mad prisoner in a secret dungeon. It was nothing, really!

Hawke hiked up her skirts with both hands and pressed her way through the panicked crowds as quickly as she could. Thankfully, most of the people were busy trying to either get away from the fight, or watch it. The wary Champion pressed through toward her main goal, trying to reach du Gaudet before he realized that Isabela was going to easily put down every guard he threw at her.

A terrified heavyset noblewoman bumped into her in an attempt to flee, nearly bowling the slender Fereldan woman over. Hawke cursed a bit, but continued on. She dodged fleeing servants and pressing aristocrats, finally arriving at du Gaudet's presence. He glared in the direction of the battle as his guards continued to fall one by one.

"What in the Maker's name _is_ she? That gutter trash has got to be some sort of abomination, there's no other way to explain it!" he growled. He had apparently not yet noticed her presence yet, so Hawke took a moment to collect herself before trying to approach.

Eight paces away… six… four…

"There you are!" thundered du Gaudet.

Hawke froze, but a moment later she realized the lord wasn't looking at her. He spun and moved forward, pushing people out of his way.

"Nolan!" he shouted.

The lanky man leaned against a pillar, quietly smoking his pipe. He looked up as his employer approached, breathing out a small smoke ring.

"Somethin' ah can do for you, your lordship?" he asked.

"I want you to do what you're paid for. Fix this problem for me," he growled, pointing at the general melee.

The other fellow took another puff from his pipe, then locked eyes with his employer again. He raised an eyebrow.

"_Permanently_," du Gaudet barked.

Hawke bit her tongue to keep from breaking her silence.

Nolan nodded, unfastening the band that held his hand axe in his belt loop. The thin man exchanged a quick glance with Hawke, still behind du Gaudet, before striding purposefully toward his new opponent.

* * *

><p>"Ah thought ah'd see you again," said Nolan as he raised both axes.<p>

The bronze woman grunted in reply as she slammed the butt of her sword down on a hapless guard's neck. The poor man crumpled like a sack of potatoes.

"Ah can't say ah'm pleased that it's come to this, but ah wanted to let you know it ain't nothin' personal," the lanky man continued as he assumed a wide combat stance.

"The boss gave an order, and that means ah gotta stop you now."

Her eyes kept glancing from him to his employer and back.

In the split second when her eyes darted to the lord of the manor, he sprang into action. He rushed at her, predicting her high defensive cut and ducking beneath it. His right axe came up in a crescent motion, aiming for her leg. She must have seen it coming; she shifted her weight to her rear leg and the crippling strike missed by scant inches, but his follow up strike met flesh.

Spots of red blood decorated the floor. It didn't cripple, but it was a beginning. She reached a dusky hand down and gingerly touched the wound, gauging the damage and blood loss.

His opponent lashed out with her sword, but he could tell it wasn't her weapon of choice. There was an almost-imperceptible uncertainty to the way she wielded it. She was clearly stronger than any of the guards, and it would dance in her hands like the deadly weapon it was, but she was lacking a certain finesse that someone of her skill and talent should have. Her dress was darkening with blood from the small cuts she had sustained. Though the guards had been unable to stop her, they had done some small amount of good.

"Ah don't suppose you'd leave nice 'n quiet like?" he asked as he stepped forward.

She met his forward movement with a sword thrust, but he turned the blade aside and stepped into her guard. He lacked the range to fully utilize his axes, but it was a calculated risk - she wouldn't be able to use her sword either. Instead he balled his fist around the axe handle and punched her in the kidney. Her eyes widened in pain, but she smashed him in the cheek with the pommel of her sword in response. The two leaped back from each other, creating a bit of distance again.

He eyed her rear leg, which was clearly weakening. Rivulets of blood trailed down her bronzed skin, dripping onto the marble floor tiles.

"Ah don't doubt you're a fine warrior. You might even be able to beat me. But you and ah both know that'd take more time than you've got, especially since you've gone and started leakin' and all. Why don't you just give up?" he offered genially.

He got no audible response. Her eyes held only grim determination. He had seen that look before. He knew he had held it once or twice in his own lifetime. He idly wondered which would buckle first, her body or her spirit.

She charged at him, bringing her sword down in a chopping motion. He spun to avoid it, following up with a horizontal slash. She managed to avoid losing her balance, but the strike was far too close. He felt resistance in his left hand as his axe made brief contact.

The woman's dark hair became undone, falling loosely about her shoulders. He could hear the clatter of the little pearls that had been woven into her hair hit the floor and began to roll. He resumed his defensive stance, waiting for the inevitable to come.

"Lookie here, this is the real world. We're all just tryin' to get by. Ah promise that she won't come to no harm while ah'm here. She ain't no damsel in distress. You ain't no dashing hero, ah ain't no dastardly villain, just a man doin' his job," he said.

"And these aren't pearls," she growled, drawing one bloody finger against one of the remaining pearls in her hair. The crimson blood stained the white pearl, which suddenly began brightening and emitting light. She hurled it at the ground, where it immediately exploded into flame and thick, oily smoke. Another explosion came, followed by another and another as the pearls that had rolled onto the floor each ignited from the magic in the air and the ensuing cloud of smoke that sprang up obscured the grand hall.

Nolan was caught in the sudden smoke as the onlookers began to scream and flee. His eyes watered, and his throat screamed in irritation as the mad rush of confused and terrified people began. Someone slammed into him from the side, and then another from the back, throwing him to the floor. He struggled to rise, before he heard a whisper from his left.

"It isn't personal, you know. Just business."

A sharp blow came to the base of his skull and he knew no more.

* * *

><p>Hawke put one foot in front of the other. He was in range. She ignored the sounds of combat as she heard metal clash with metal. She put the noises out of her mind. Hawke instead could hear Isabela's advice on thievery as if it were a whisper in her ear.<p>

_Remember, sweet thing - half of all thievery is waiting for the opportune moment..._

He was still alert. She knew she would only get one chance at this. Suddenly, the whole situation changed.

Explosions. Billowing smoke clouds. Choking and panicking onlookers. A wave of burning, tearing eyes and a throat that felt so itchy that she wanted to scream. She held it in.

He was distracted. It was now or never. She reached a velvet-gloved hand out and wrapped her fingers around it. She tensed her legs in preparation to run. The Champion could feel the hard metal surface through the thin cloth as she yanked as hard as she could.

_The other half is getting away._

White hot pain flooded Hawke's nerves as jagged bolts of lightning erupted from the amulet and raced down her arm to her chest. Her heart felt like it was about to burst as the electricity tore through her, causing her muscles to spasm uncontrollably, and straining and tearing under her skin. She gagged and gasped for breath as she finally released the amulet, falling to her knees and coughing.

"I am disappointed, Champion," came du Gaudet's voice from above her as she struggled to breathe.

"I thought that surely the esteemed Champion of Kirkwall would not be so stupid as to think I wouldn't guard against something as simple as _petty thievery_," he continued.

She tried to rise, but her legs felt like jelly. She looked up at him defiantly, anger and hatred in her eyes.

He coughed, trying to fan away the smoke.

"You'll be by my side, Champion, one way or another. I don't care if it's on your feet or on your knees, but you will know your place," he said.

"Oh, she _already_ knows her place," growled a woman's voice from within the clouds of smoke. "But it's not by _your_ side, you arrogant monster. It's by _mine_."

The dark corsair emerged from the smoke, a bloody blade in one hand and a silk handkerchief held to her face in the other. Her golden eyes promised pain.

"Guards! Nolan! Someone, anyone, stop her!" he cried, scrambling back. "A thousand sovereigns to anyone who stops this demon woman!"

There was no response. The wails and screams of the sick and frightened guests instead filled the air.

"Champion! You've got to stop her! You know what will happen if you don't! You don't want the blood of all those innocents on your hands, do you?!" he shouted, his voice cracking.

Hawke rose unsteadily to her feet. She still felt uneasy from inhaling the smoke, and her legs felt like jelly from the effects of the lightning, but she stood to interpose herself between the pirate and the lordling.

The buccaneer was on her in the blink of an eye. Hawke braced herself for impact, but it never came. Instead, gentle arms encircled her and pulled her close. She felt warmth through the haze, and soft lips touched hers. She felt her knees turn to water as they kissed in the cloud. When the kiss finally broke, it took a moment for Hawke to collect her wits.

"He's got an amulet that will kill hundreds if you don't stop him. It will shock the life out of you if you touch it, and the magic will go off if he dies! You must get it from him!" she hissed desperately into the pirate's ear.

"Trust in me, Hawke. This time I've got _your_ back," came the familiar whisper in her ear, before she was released. The dazed Champion slowly dropped to her knees and the last thing she saw before passing out was the pirate's rear as she continued her inexorable march toward the lord of the manor.

* * *

><p>He stared at her in muted fury. His hand rested calmly on the hilt of his rapier, but his eyes betrayed his inner rage. His upper lip was twisted into a sneer as she approached him. He took careful note of the blood oozing out of her exposed wounds, and the slight limp in her left leg.<p>

"You filthy gutter trash. You've ruined _everything_!" he bellowed.

She didn't respond. Instead, she held her sword up in a loose guard stance and spat in his general direction.

The lord stepped forward, leading with a solid thrust. He quickly followed with a second, and a third, trying to pierce a vital organ with his rapier.

Isabela's blade leaped to and fro as the heavier sword parried each attack. She brought her sword in for a counterattack in a low arc aimed at du Gaudet's legs, but a twist of his rapier and he would change the path of her blade just enough to miss each time.

Metal rang on metal as the two dueled. His defensive skill with the rapier was an excellent counter to her broad, slashing strokes, but the implacable strength she brought with each blow was enough to drive him back despite his nearly impervious guard.

He could tell that she was slowing, however. She was faltering from the blood loss, and she knew it. He closed in for the kill.

"Oh no, you don't even deserve to face me. I warned her that this would happen," he taunted, reaching toward his amulet with his free hand.

The duelist tensed, watching carefully.

His steady gaze never left her as he pulled one of the gems from his amulet.

Her eyes narrowed as she saw him finger the first jewel. He lifted his hand to his mouth with a smirk.

"This is on your head," he growled, biting his thumb with even, white teeth. A single drop of blood oozed from the small wound.

She launched herself at him immediately, and their swords rang out as he parried her strike. She had hoped that her heavier blade would shatter his lighter, thinner weapon, but luck was not on her side. She could see the fine craftsmanship of du Gaudet's rapier, and she would have bet all the coin she had that her enemy's sword was enchanted.

"You want it? Catch!" he grunted as he smeared a bit of blood on the gem and tossed it at her.

She leaped to intercept it, but reeled back in pain as she felt metal pierce her already-injured leg. She managed to stay her tongue, but the agony was excruciating. She looked at the gemstone she had caught. It was a dull, lifeless blue, stained red with blood. She tossed it aside.

"I wonder how many of your precious wharf rats are killing each other right now?" taunted the nobleman. He reached to his amulet once again. "No better than they deserve."

She tried to rush him once more, leading with a fierce overhand slash into a low thrust aimed at his arm. The corsair put as much as she could into it, hoping to make him drop the jewel, but she could feel one leg buckling due to the wounds she had received. The nobleman danced to one side and easily rapped her blade out of the way with his rapier. His riposte caught her in the injured leg again and she dropped to one knee.

She screamed in pain as she felt the sword dig deep into her flesh.

He withdrew his weapon and painted a second gem with the fat droplets of her blood coating the blade. He dropped the gemstone onto the ground. It was a dull, red color.

The nobleman circled her, grinning to himself.

"Let's end this little charade. You never had a chance to defeat me. You're garbage. You came from garbage, you've always been garbage, and you'll always **be** garbage. Step aside and let your betters pass on," he said, raising his sword for a final strike.

"Come on then," she gasped. "That little corkscrew of yours doesn't look like it could satisfy a pigeon, let alone a real woman."

He gave a cry of rage and thrust his blade, starting low, upward through her abdomen. She screamed in pain as the tip punched through her flesh to emerge from her back. Her sword fell from her fingers with a clatter to the stone floor.

"As I thought," he said, twisting his rapier.

She gave a horrible-sounding laugh as blood dripped from her lips.

"Is that the best you've got?" she replied, grasping his sword-arm's wrist with one hand. She grinned, showing her bloody teeth. "I've had better."

His eyes widened in shock as he tried to pull away but couldn't. Her vise-like grip on his arm was too strong. His eyes filled with fear as her grin turned wicked. Her other hand reached up and firmly grasped his amulet, completing the circuit.

White-hot pain exploded in every inch of his body as bright white lightning erupted from the amulet and coursed through her body and into his. His eyes were blinded as every muscle spasmed uncontrollably, tearing themselves beneath his skin. His fingers clenched and unclenched, and he jerked his body back and forth, but it was no use. He couldn't break her iron grip.

She didn't seem to fare much better. Through flashes of sight, he could see her face contorted as badly as he felt. Her entire body was convulsing and twitching as she shrieked, the massive jolts of electricity ripping through both of them and leaving charred, torn muscle in their wake. He could smell a nasty, bitter smoke and it took an eternal moment of torture to realize it was the aroma of his own burnt flesh greeting his nostrils.

After a seeming eternity of torment he fell, still twitching, to the floor. Every inch of his body screamed in agony. He struggled to open his eyes.

The woman had fallen beside him, her gown tattered and soaked in blood and her muscles still twitching from the electrical onslaught. He struggled to rise, to find a weapon, to do something to finish her off while she was still vulnerable, but his body refused to cooperate. Every nerve protested and refused to respond as he lay on the cold stone tile. He could see the sword where it had fallen scant inches from his fingers. It would be easier than cutting a helpless deer's throat after his dogs had already run it down.

He managed to twitch a finger. He redoubled his efforts, willing his body to move. A second finger moved, then a third. His wrist trembled. He internally exulted, but continued to press his hand toward the hilt. He'd show the sow and the rest of the gutter trash that he was still the superior one. By right of his very blood, he would show them all!

He managed to get a finger on the hilt of the blade, but couldn't quite control his entire hand. His arm screamed in agony, but he pushed through the pain. He was superior. He would emerge victorious. He felt the velvet handle in his palm and nearly crowed with glee.

Fresh, lancing pain erupted from his wrist, and his fingers released the tenuous grip on the hilt of the sword. Impossible! The bitch had somehow gotten up before him, and had crushed his wrist with one of her knees.

The dusky pirate held a triumphant look on her face as he realized that her right hand was not empty. As soon as he saw, he noticed his throat was missing the now-familiar gentle pressure that he had come to expect from the jewelry he normally wore. His amulet dangled from her closed fist. One brightly-glowing jewel was still intact.

"H-how?!" he demanded, his own tongue feeling thick and foreign within his own mouth.

"You think you're the only one that's felt pain before? I've had cramps that hurt more than that," she growled, easily picking up the fallen sword he had worked so hard to grasp.

"You can't kill me! I am lord of this manor! I am Donovan du Gaudet! You wouldn't _dare_ kill me!" he tried to shout from the floor. His voice wheezed, and he gasped for breath.

"Oh, I'm not going to kill you," she growled.

"You're not? O-of course you're not!" he coughed.

"But when I'm done with you, you might wish I had," she finished with a grin that promised pain as she reached down and retrieved her fallen blade.

His screams echoed throughout the hall.

* * *

><p>Hawke woke with a cough, briefly wondering where she was. Her mind had a hard time focusing; she felt muddled, as if she had just been awoken in the middle of a nap. The floor was hard and cold beneath her back, and she wasn't wearing her usual clothing. She lifted one hand and noticed the long velvet glove. As if a dam had burst, her memories came flooding back all in a rush. She tried to stand and almost immediately fell unceremoniously onto her bottom as she took a misstep in her gown and tripped over her own skirts.<p>

The smoke began to clear as the voluminous clouds finally began dissipating from the grand ballroom. The cavernous banquet hall had been all but abandoned; several groaning guardsmen and a handful of nobles who had been trampled in the terror lay about the floor. The massive doors had been flung open, and the panicked guests had fled through them. Hawke rose more carefully this time, waving away the remaining smoke nearby. The acrid odor stung her nose, but she found could breathe more easily than before. She struggled to her feet, still woozy from the aftereffects of the shock she had taken.

A shadow crossed her peripheral vision and she rapidly spun towards it. She tried to quell her dizziness, and her heartbeat quickened when she saw the shadowy figure emerging from the smoke. She tried to steady herself, hoping for a friendly face but ready for a fight.

Relief flooded her as she realized it was Sebastian.

"Hawke, are ye alright? We came to rescue ye, though admittedly, perhaps not with so much… panache," he said, offering her a steadying hand. She took it gratefully,.

"Never mind about me, I'm fine. What happened to du Gaudet?"

"I canna tell, not with the smoke and all. Isabela didnae' warn me about _that_ part of her cunning plan," he replied.

She inhaled sharply.

"Wait, this was all _Isabela's_ plan?"

"Aye. We were all worried, but ever since you vanished she's been on us as relentless as a Tevinter slavedriver," he answered with a smile.

"But… what about the poison? She didn't… I couldn't…" sputtered Hawke.

"Aye, she figured that part out too. Anders, Varric, and Merrill should have disarmed the poison canisters tonight. They ought to be finished by now," he said.

"She really did all that?" asked Hawke, incredulous.

She heard a wracking, gurgling cough from within the smoke. It sounded like it came from a woman. Hawke desperately looked for its source.

A trail of blood led from still-twitching body of the fallen nobleman a short distance to the pirate's sitting, barely-breathing form. Deep crimson stained her gown, and her breath came slowly, in ragged gasps. Hawke hobbled to the pirate and threw her arms around her lover's slumped form.

"Isabela, what have you done? Why?!" she demanded through wracked sobs.

The pirate chuckled, then hissed in pain.

"For you, sweet thing," she said. She pressed something small and hard into Hawke's hand.

It was a small, glowing green jewel about the size of her thumbnail.

"Hold still, you wonderful little fool," chided Hawke as she summoned her mana. The Fereldan's hands glowed briefly as she touched the worst of the dusky woman's wounds.

Isabela gasped as she felt the magic begin its work. She raised one hand and cupped Hawke's cheek.

"I knew I'd make you come," said the pirate.

"I could say the same for you," replied the Champion, putting her arms around the captain and embracing her gently. A moment passed in silence, both women finally relaxing and sharing each others' warmth.

"Erm… What happened du Gaudet?" asked Sebastian, breaking the silence.

"You didn't kill him, did you?" asked Hawke. She looked at the prone villain's unmoving body.

"Don't worry, sweet thing. He's only passed out from the shock. He'll live, I promise. He might wish that he hadn't, but he'll live," the captain replied.

"What did ye _do_ to him?" asked Sebastian.

The pirate gave a grim chuckle.

"I cut a few things that won't be growing back," she said.

"You cut… but won't he come back for revenge?" asked her lover.

The pirate gave a wry smile.

"I didn't cut _that_, if that's what you're implying. I actually left his love baton alone. No, I just made sure he'll never be able to walk, use his hands, or even wipe his own ass without assistance from others ever again," she replied.

"If it weren't for the blood magic, I would have killed him," responded Hawke.

"After what he did to Jillian, to the other girls, to all of those people, and what he nearly succeeded at… I was tempted. The bottom-feeding filth spewer deserves every moment of the rest of his life," said Isabela with a nod.

"No less than he deserves," declared Sebastian.

"It seems you've neatly wrapped everything up, captain," said Hawke, putting one arm around the pirate's waist and helping her to her feet.

"Nearly," replied the pirate, leaning onto the Champion. "I think I'm about ready to relinquish the crown of leadership back to you, Hawke."

"Pity," Hawke said with a laugh. "I was hoping to see some of it in action."

"I might have an order or two left in me," replied the dusky pirate with a grin. "Let's go home and we'll explore that thought a bit more thoroughly..."

Hawke waited expectantly.

"Go on and say it. I know you want to," encouraged the Champion.

Isabela grinned.

"... in bed," finished the corsair.

_fin?_

* * *

><p>Epilogue 1<p>

The cavernous library was dark, barely illuminated by the flickering light from the crackling fire in the hearth. A barrel-chested man sat, unmoving, in a large velvet lounge chair near the fireplace. An aged maid lifted a goblet to his lips, but he sputtered and coughed.

He spat.

"Careful with that, you stupid oaf! What are you trying to do, drown me?!" he thundered. The woman shrank back visibly in fear from his outburst, but he paid her no heed.

"It seems your plan has run aground," a rasping, deep voice observed.

"Come to gloat?" asked the seated man.

The voice laughed a cruel, mirthless laugh.

"Perhaps a bit," it mused.

A moment passed in silence.

"You know the part I find the most amusing? You weren't even defeated by the mighty Champion, the legendary hero, the one you were so keen on dominating. You were defeated by her _pet_," the voice continued.

"Get out," growled the sitting man.

"Or what? You'll come over here and do something about it?" taunted the raspy voice.

"Out!" bellowed the reclining man, the desperation evident in his voice.

"Believe it or not, I didn't come to gloat," began the voice. "I came to offer you a new deal."

"Leave us!" commanded the sitting man.

The terrified maid fled the room.

"I'm listening."

"What would you give to take your revenge? On both the Champion _and_ her little scavenger of a pet?" asked the voice.

Another moment passed in silence.

"I would give _anything_," whispered the seated man.

"I was hoping you'd say that," answered the raspy voice.

* * *

><p>Epilogue 2<p>

"And… done," declared Merrill with a smile. She lowered her hands and took a deep breath. The light from her fingers faded and the red gemstone settled into a dull, dark color. She stood and took a step back, clearing the way for two nervous-looking elven servants to lift the barrel.

"You're sure that thing's safe? The last thing Madam Lusine wants is for us to be biting and clawing the clients in here, not without good coin being paid for it first," replied Lianne.

A number of young men and women, each dressed in various forms of revealing lingerie, had gathered around the foul-mouthed courtesan and looked on in curiosity and no small amount of fear. Most of them watched the barrel containing the poison canister as if it were a live cobra as the pair of servants carried it out.

"That really is remarkable," exclaimed Varric, looking over the group of girls assembled around the bar.

"That they're made up to look like Hawke, you mean?" asked Fenris.

"Yeah. It's an utter travesty," replied the stout dwarf.

"It's in no small part thanks to you, you know," said Aveline with a sniff. "Your tall tales have a way of spreading in a way that are… uncomfortable."

"That's why I said it. They should be paying me commissions for drumming up business!" he grumbled.

"Isabela was right about the last hiding place. I never would have guessed that the villain would have hidden the last canister in the brothel," chirped Merrill, joining the group at their table as the prostitutes began to disperse.

"They store a lot of barrels of wine here, it makes a good hiding place," commented Fenris.

"But it would suffice at any number of taverns or inns," said Aveline, frowning. "I had my guardsmen check, but we couldn't examine every barrel in the entire city."

"Nobody's blaming ye, Aveline," soothed Sebastian. "I'm just glad we managed to solve the problem."

"Where is she, anyway? Didn't Hawke ask us all to be here to take care of the final canister?" asked Anders, looking uncomfortable. "I never like coming here, this place makes me nervous."

"Anders, when will you come visit me again? Your Champion needs her _healing_," purred one of the Hawke-like courtesans as she passed, running her hand lightly across his shoulders.

"Yeah, Blondie. I can see why," quipped Varric.

"I went by Hawke's home to water her plants earlier today, but I didn't see either of them," mused Merrill, tapping her tattooed cheek with one finger.

"That's odd. It's been three days since we returned, and I nae heard from either of them," remarked Sebastian.

"Didn't you say Isabela was injured? She hasn't come by the clinic for any treatment," said Anders.

The gathered friends exchanged glances.

"Where do you suppose they could be?" wondered Merrill.

"Knowing the whore, she's probably dragged poor Hawke off for three days of non-stop debauchery," said Aveline with a disdainful sniff.

"Well wherever they are, I hope they're doing well," replied Merrill.

* * *

><p>Epilogue 3<p>

"I've died and been cast into the Void," wailed the pirate. "What have I done to deserve this? This is _torture_! I'm going to _die_!"

Her companion sighed and sat down on the large feather bed that the dusky woman was occupying.

"Come off it, you big baby," said Hawke, clucking her tongue. "You were nearly killed! Now lay back and rest before you reopen your wounds again!"

The buxom corsair leveled a challenging stare at her captor, but amber eyes met piercing blue ones, and the captain finally broke eye contact. Instead, she crossed her arms beneath her breasts and pouted.

"It isn't fair!" she grumbled.

"I just said that you had to stop any strenuous activity, and that means sex too. You'll reopen your stitches _again_, and I can't have you bleeding all over my bed _again_," replied the Champion matter-of-factly.

"Do you ever get tired of making sense?" complained the pirate.

"It's why you're put up with me," answered the Fereldan woman with a smile.

"I thought it was because of that ass," quipped Isabela with a grin, squeezing said ass with one hand.

"This isn't a good idea," breathed Hawke as she reluctantly let herself be pulled closer.

"It isn't a good idea, sweet thing. It's a _great_ idea," murmured the scoundrel, putting both arms around her lover's waist. She leaned in for a kiss, and Hawke did not resist. As the pirate's hands roamed southward, however, the Champion grabbed one of her wrists and forcefully extricated it from her rear.

"No sex," Hawke declared with finality.

Her lover groaned and lay back against the pillows. She looked away and reached under the covers.

"None of that either!" said Hawke.

Isabela nearly screamed in frustration.

"It's been nearly two weeks since you had to run off and do your Champion thing, and three days since I had to rescue you. I'm starting to get as rusty as Aveline down there! It isn't healthy to get this backed up, you're probably causing me some permanent damage or something!" complained the pirate.

"Just two more days," soothed Hawke, cupping her lover's cheek with her palm. "I'll need you at your best to find this maleficar."

"I've got your back, Hawke. You know you can count on me," replied Isabela with a grin. "Have you had any luck with those symbols?"

"They seem to be ancient Tevinter in nature… but they're so strange. Almost an impossibility, like storing an ogre in a shot glass."

"You'll figure it out, sweet thing. You always do," said the pirate with a smile. Her grin grew wicked. "But first things first… You know I'm going to bend you over and tenderize your meat until it's reduced to quivering jelly just as soon as I'm better, don't you?"

"I've already let Bodahn know that we'll be taking our meals in here for at least two days after you're better," murmured Hawke, rising from the bed and walking to the armoire.

"The way I'm feeling, you'll want to make it three," quipped Isabela.

"And you'll be glad to know that I've also made some preparations," continued Hawke, opening the armoire doors. Inside were all of the various outfits and devices that Isabela had always liked, cleaned, sorted, and ready to be used.

Isabela's face lit up.

"Are those the silk manacles I was looking at?" she asked. "And the drakeskin harness I wanted?"

"I went on a bit of a shopping spree," admitted Hawke.

"You know, I've never been good at waiting. We could use them _now_," suggested the pirate with a throaty voice. She squeezed her arms together, thrusting her chest out further.

"Not until you're better," answered Hawke, closing the armoire.

"Shit," cursed the pirate.

_Finis… for real_

* * *

><p>Author's Note:<p>

It's finally done! This story has gone on a lot longer than I originally intended. In the intervening time, I've actually changed jobs twice and had to move several thousand miles in the process. But I've got a job I like for an employer I like in a place I like, and I've finally managed to finish this tale. I hope that you all enjoy it as much as I did writing it. There were definitely parts that I had difficulty putting to page, and it took me a while to work my (and Isabela's) way through them. Strangely, this entire story began from two simple premises - to have Hawke and Isabela attend a fancy dress ball, and to have Isabela take the lead. I had an outline, I started writing, and it just sort of spiraled out of control. Some parts wrote themselves… several scenes at the gala, some of the scenes in the beginning, but the difficulty emerged in connecting them in a way that made sense. The characters wrested their destinies away from me, and forged off on their own, and this was the ultimate result. It's no small thing - Lionfish is around a hundred pages long in total, nearly ⅓ of the entire Snacking saga!

As usual, I would like to give a huge thank my prereaders for the editing process and helping me catch the parts that weren't working, didn't make sense, or even just the usual small errors here and there. In addition, I would like to thank you all for sticking with me all this time - it's been over a year since Lionfish part 2 after all, and I'm sure many people have lost interest or moved on. Dragon Age Inquisition is coming, after all, so I am sure many are preparing for that. I know I am. Somewhat.

You may have noticed that there are a few epilogues here… it's no mistake. The Snacking saga isn't over quite yet. There are more adventures to be had.

As usual, if you haven't gotten your Isabela fix, you can try reading her tumblr that she regularly maintains. You can find it at isabelaexplainsitall dot tumblr dot com. She always enjoys getting questions and tries to answer them in a (reasonably) timely fashion. As always, if you are interested in pre-reading for me in the future (once I actually have something to pre-read, of course) please contact me. If you have an idea or a suggestion for a tale, please send it along. I know I would love to see more of these two and their adventures.


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